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Lady  Macbeth. 
Ellen  Terry. 


Clje  ^catiemg  Classics 




SHAKESPEARE 


MACBETH 


EDITED  WITH  A LIFE  OF  SHAKESPEARE,  AN  ACCOUNT  OF 
THE  THEATRE  IN  HIS  TIME,  AND  NUMEROUS 
AIDS  TO  THE  STUDY  OF  THE  PLAY 

BY 

SAMUEL  THURBER,  Jr. 

NEWTON  HIGH  SCHOOL 

AND 

R.  ADELAIDE  WITHAM 

PRINCIPAL,  THE  BARSTOW  SCHOOL 
KANSAS  CITY 


ALLYN  and  BACON 

BOSTON  NEW  YORK  CHICAGO 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


ATLANTA 


COPYRIGHT,  1922 
BY  SAMUEL  THURBER,  Jr. 


EAO 


Norfoooh 

J,  S.  Cushing  Co.  — Berwick  & Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass*,  U.S.A. 


FOREWORD 


This  new  edition  of  Macbeth  aims  to  present  the 
tragedy  not  only  as  a piece  of  literature  to  be  read,  but  as 
the  acting  play  which  Shakespeare  wrote  for  the  Globe 
Theatre.  The  editors  have  tried  also  to  meet  halfway 

— and  in  a human  way  — all  the  eager  interest  which 
students  actually  feel  in  studying  into  a Shakespeare 
tragedy.  Some  idea  is  given  of  the  way  Shakespeare 

* worked,  and  of  the  way  his  work  affected  the  people  for 
whom  he  wrote, — among  them  ourselves,  — for  he  is 

l proved  to-day,  in  every  class-room  where  he  is  really 
loved,  to  be  “not  of  an  age,  but  for  all  time.” 

The  notes  have  been  made  very  full.  Questions  and 
s comments  for  preparing  the  day’s  lesson  and  for  class- 
) room  discussion  are  numerous.  The  sections  on  Tragic 
Destination  in  Macbeth,  the  Dramatic  Construction  of 
Macbeth,  the  Value  of  Character  Contrast  in  Macbeth, 
and  Verse  and  Prose  in  Macbeth  are  intended  to  bring 
^ out  clearly  the  distinctive  features  that  make  Macbeth, 
next  to  Hamlet,  the  greatest  of  Shakespeare’s  tragedies 

— and  even  greater  than  Hamlet  in  sure  construction 
- and  dynamic  effect. 

* The  present  edition  is  for  class  study  and  does  not  pre- 
s tend  to  any  original  research  or  scholarship.  Numerous 

authorities  have  been  consulted,  Dr.  Furness’s  Variorum 
Edition  of  Macbeth  and  Professor  Moulton’s  Shakespeare 


ill 


Foreword. 


as  a Dramatic  Artist , being  most  often  quoted.  Yet,  with 
all  respect  to  scholarly  authorities,  this  edition  derives  its 
chief  value  from  the  editors’  experience  in  teaching  Mac- 
beth to  classes  whose  appreciation  and  enthusiasm  have 
made  the  preparation  of  this  work  a pleasure. 


IV 


CONTENTS 


List  of  Illustrations 

From  Shakespeare’s  Sonnet  LV  . 

Dramatis  Personae 

MACBETH 

Appendix 

He  Writing  and  Publication  of  Macbeth  . 

Material  Used  by  Shakespeare  in  Macbeth 

The  Time  Duration  of  Macbeth  .... 

Tragic  Destination  in  Macbeth 

The  Dramatic  Construction  of  Macbeth  . 

The  Value  of  Character  Contrast  in  Macbeth  . 

Verse  and  Prose  in  Macbeth  ..... 
Comments  upon  the  Play  and  the  Characters  . 

Familiar  Passages 

What  We  Know  about  Shakespeare  .... 
'Shakespeare’s  Plays  and  Poems  .... 

"Shakespeare’s  Popularity  in  His  Own  Day 
^Shakespeare’s  Fame  since  His  Death 
“The  Theatre  of  Shakespeare’s  Day  .... 
"Books  of  Interest  to  Students  of  Shakespeare  . 

Explanatory  Notes  and  Discussions  of  Each  Scene 
Subjects  for  Oral  and  Written  Composition  . 


PAGE 

vii 

ix 

xi 

1 

89 

95 

103 

107 

115 

118 

133 

145 

155 

161 

174 

188 

193 

202 

224 

227 

320 


V 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Ellen  Terry  as  Lady  Macbeth  . 

Frontispiece 

When  shall  we  three  meet  again 
In  thunder , lightning , or  in  rain  ? 

— Act  I,  Scene  i 

FACING  PAGE 

1 

The  earth  hath  bubbles , as  the  water  has , 

And  these  are  of  them.  Whither  are  they  vanished? 
— Act  I,  Scene  3 

. 7 

Helena  Modjeska  as  Lady  Macbeth 
Hie  thee  hither , 

That  I may  pour  my  spirits  in  thine  ear. 

— Act  I,  Scene  5 

. . . 13 

Art  thou  afeard 

To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and  valor 
As  thou  art  in  desire? 

/ — Act  I,  Scene  7 

. 18 

Infirm  of  purpose! 

Give  me  the  daggers:  the  sleeping  and  the  dead 
Are  but  as  pictures  — 

— Act  II,  Scene  2 

. 25 

And  I will  put  that  business  in  your  bosoms , 
Whose  execution  takes  your  enemy  off. 

— Act  III,  Scene  1 

. 38 

Thou  canst  not  say  I did  it:  never  shake 
Thy  gory  locks  at  me. 

— Act  III,  Scene  4 

. 46 

vii 

List  of  Illustrations. 


How  now , you  secret , black , and  midnight  hags  ! facing  page 

What  is  ’t  you  do  ? 

— Act  IV,  Scene  i 55 

All  the  perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little  hand. 

— Act  V,  Scene  i 74 

And  now  a wood 
Comes  toward  Dunsinane. 

— Act  V,  Scene  5 82 

Of  all  men  else  I have  avoided  thee: 

But  get  thee  back;  my  soul  is  too  much  charged 
With  blood  of  thine  already. 


— Act  V,  Scene  8 85 

Shakespeare’s  House  at  Stratford-on-Avon  ....  164 

The  Room  Where  Shakespeare  Was  Born  ....  164 

Anne  Hathaway’s  Cottage  at  Shottery 166 

Interior  of  Anne  Hathaway’s  Cottage  at  Shottery  . . 166 

Holy  Trinity  Parish  Church,  Stratford-on-Avon  . . . 172 

Inscription  on  Shakespeare’s  Tomb  . . . . . .172 

Inscription  on  Shakespeare’s  Monument,  Trinity  Church, 

Stratford-on-Avon 172 

The  Globe  Theatre 210 

Interior  of  an  Elizabethan  Theatre 210 


Vlll 


“Not  marble,  not  the  gilded  monuments 
Of  princes,  shall  outlive  this  powerful  rhyme, 

But  you  shall  shine  more  bright  in  these  contents 
Than  unswept  stone,  besmeared  with  sluttish  time. 
When  wasteful  war  shall  statues  overturn, 

And  broils  root  out  the  work  of  masonry, 

Nor  Mars  his  sword  nor  war’s  quick  fire  shall  burn 
The  living  record  of  your  memory. 

’Gainst  death  and  all-oblivious  enmity 

Shall  you  pace  forth ; your  praise  shall  still  find  room 

Even  in  the  eyes  of  all  posterity 

That  wear  this  world  out  to  the  ending  doom.’7 


IX 


MACBETH 


DRAMATIS  PERSONAS 


Duncan,  king  of  Scotland. 
Malcolm, 

Donalbain,  j 


his  sons. 


Macbeth,  1 Generals  of  the  king’s 
Banquo,  / army. 

Macduff, 

Lennox, 

Ross,  I Noblemen  of  Scot- 
Menteith,  iand. 

Angus, 

Caithness, 

Fleance,  son  to  Banquo. 

Siward,  Earl  of  Northumberland, 
general  of  the  English  forces. 
Young  Siward,  his  son. 

Seyton,  an  officer  attending  on 
Macbeth. 

Boy,  son  to  Macduff. 


An  English  Doctor. 

A Scotch  Doctor. 

A Soldier. 

A Porter. 

An  Old  Man. 

Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  Macduff. 

Gentlewoman  attending  on  Lady 
Macbeth. 

Hecate. 

Three  Witches. 

Apparitions. 

Lords,  Gentlemen,  Officers,  Sol- 
diers, Murderers,  Attendants, 
and  Messengers. 

Scene  : Scotland ; England . 


When  shall  we  three  meet  again 
In  thunder , lightning , or  in  rain  P 

— Act  I.  Scene  i. 


ACT  I 


Scene  I.  A desert  place. 

Thunder  and  lightning.  Enter  three  Witches . 

First  Witch.  When  shall  we  three  meet  again 
In  thunder,  lightning,  or  in  rain  ? 

Sec.  Witch.  When  the  hurlyburly’s  done, 

When  the  battle ’s  lost  and  won. 

Third  Witch.  That  will  be  ere  the  set  of  sun.  s 

First  Witch.  Where  the  place? 

Sec.  Witch.  Upon  the  heath. 

Third  Witch.  There  to  meet  with  Macbeth. 

First  Witch.  I come,  Graymalkin  ! 

Sec.  Witch.  Paddock  calls. 

Third  Witch.  Anon  ! io 

All.  Fair  is  foul,  and  foul  is  fair : 

Hover  through  the  fog  and  filthy  air.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II.  A camp  near  Forres. 

Alarum  within.  Enter  Duncan,  Malcolm,  Donal- 
bain,  Lennox,  with  Attendants,  meeting  a bleeding 
Sergeant. 

Dun.  What  bloody  man  is  that  ? He  can  report, 

As  seemeth  by  his  plight,  of  the  revolt 
The  newest  state. 

Mai.  This  is  the  sergeant 

Who  like  a good  and  hardy  soldier  fought 
’Gainst  my  captivity.  Hail,  brave  friend  ! s 


I 


Macbeth. 


Act  I,  Scene  2. 


Say  to  the  king  the  knowledge  of  the  broil 
As  thou  didst  leave  it. 

Ser.  Doubtful  it  stood ; 

As  two  spent  swimmers,  that  do  cling  together 
And  choke  their  art.  The  merciless  Macdonwald  — 
Worthy  to  be  a rebel,  for  to  that  10 

The  multiplying  villanies  of  nature 
Do  swarm  upon  him  — • from  the  western  isles 
Of  kerns  and  gallowglasses  is  supplied  ; 

And  fortune,  on  his  damned  quarrel  smiling, 

Showed  like  a rebel’s  whore  : but  all ’s  too  weak  : 15 

For  brave  Macbeth  — well  he  deserves  that  name  — 
Disdaining  fortune,  with  his  brandished  steel, 

Which  smoked  with  bloody  execution, 

Like  valor’s  minion  carved  out  his  passage 

Till  he  faced  the  slave ; 20 

Which  ne’er  shook  hands,  nor  bade  farewell  to  him, 

Till  he  unseamed  him  from  the  nave  to  the  chaps, 

And  fixed  his  head  upon  our  battlements. 

Dun . 0 valiant  cousin  ! worthy  gentleman ! 

Ser.  As  whence  the  sun  ’gins  his  reflection  25 

Shipwrecking  storms  and  direful  thunders  break, 

So  from  that  spring  whence  comfort  seemed  to  come 
Discomfort  swells.  Mark,  king  of  Scotland,  mark : 

No  sooner  justice  had  with  valor  armed 

Compelled  these  skipping  kerns  to  trust  their  heels,  30 

But  the  Norweyan  lord,  surveying  vantage, 

With  furbished  arms  and  new  supplies  of  men 
Began  a fresh  assault. 

Dun.  Dismayed  not  this 

Our  captains,  Macbeth  and  Banquo? 


2 


Act  I,  Scene  2. 


Macbeth. 


Ser.  Yes; 

As  sparrows  eagles,  or  the  hare  the  lion.  35 

If  I say  sooth,  I must  report  they  were 
As  cannons  overcharged  with  double  cracks,  so  they 
Doubly  redoubled  strokes  upon  the  foe : 

'Except  they  meant  to  bathe  in  reeking  wounds, 

Or  memorize  another  Golgotha,  40 

I cannot  tell  — 

But  I am  faint,  my  gashes  cry  for  help. 

Dun . So  well  thy  words  become  thee  as  thy  wounds ; 
They  smack  of  honor  both.  Go  get  him  surgeons. 

[Exit  Sergeant , attended . 

Who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Ross. 

Mol.  The  worthy  thane  of  Ross.  45 

Len . What  a haste  looks  through  his  eyes  ! So  should 
he  look 

That  seems  to  speak  things  strange. 

Ross.  God  save  the  king ! 

Dun.  Whence  earnest  thou,  worthy  thane  ? 

Ross.  From  Fife,  great  king; 

Where  the  Norweyan  banners  flout  the  sky 
And  fan  our  people  cold.  Norway  himself,  so 

With  terrible  numbers, 

1 x.  -i 

Assisted  by  that  most  disloyal  traitor, 

The  thane  of  Cawdor,  began  a dismal  conflict ; 

Till  that  Bellona’s  bridegroom,  lapped  in  proof, 
Confronted  him  with  self -comparisons,  55 

Point  against  point  rebellious,  arm  ’gainst  arm, 

Curbing  his  lavish  spirit : and,  to  conclude, 

The  victory  fell  on  us. 


3 


Macbeth. 


Act  I,  Scene  3. 


Dun.  Great  happiness ! 

Ross.  That  now 

Sweno,  the  Norways’  king,  craves  composition ; 

Nor  would  we  deign  him  burial  of  his  men  60 

Till  he  disbursed  at  St.  Colme’s  inch 
Ten  thousand  dollars  to  our  general  use. 

Dun.  No  more  that  thane  of  Cawdor  shall  deceive 
Our  bosom  interest : go  pronounce  his  present  death, 

And  with  his  former  title  greet  Macbeth.  65 

Ross.  I ’ll  see  it  done. 

Dun.  What  he  hath  lost  noble  Macbeth  hath  won. 

[Exeunt. 


Scene  III.  A heath  near  Forres. 

Thunder.  Enter  the  three  Witches. 

First  Witch.  Where  hast  thou  been,  sister  ? 

Sec.  Witch.  Killing  swine. 

Third  Witch.  Sister,  where  thou? 

First  Witch.  A sailor’s  wife  had  chestnuts  in  her 
lap, 

And  munched,  and  munched,  and  munched  : — ‘ Give  me,’ 
quoth  1 : 5 

‘Aroint  thee,  witch  ! ’ the  rump-fed  ronyon  cries. 

Her  husband ’s  to  Aleppo  gone,  master  o’  the  Tiger : 

But  in  a sieve  I ’ll  thither  sail, 

And,  like  a rat  without  a tail, 

I ’ll  do,  I ’ll  do,  and  I ’ll  do. 

Sec.  Witch.  I ’ll  give  thee  a wind. 

First  Witch.  Thou  ’rt  kind. 

Third  Witch.  And  I another. 

4 


Act  I,  Scene  3. 


Macbeth. 


First  Witch . 1 myself  have  all  the  other. 

And  the  very  ports  they  blow,  15 

All  the  quarters  that  they  know 
I’  the  shipman’s  card. 

I will  drain  him  dry  as  hay  : 

Sleep  shall  neither  night  nor  day 

Hang  upon  his  pent-house  lid  ; 20 

He  shall  live  a man  forbid : 

Weary  se’nnights  nine  times  nine 
Shall  he  dwindle,  peak  and  pine  : 

Though  his  bark  cannot  be  lost, 

Yet  it  shall  be  tempest-tost.  25 

Look  what  I have. 

Sec.  Witch.  Show  me,  show  me. 

First  Witch.  Here  I have  a pilot’s  thumb, 

Wrecked  as  homeward  he  did  come.  [Drum  within. 

Third  Witch.  A drum,  a drum  ! so 

Macbeth  doth  come  ! 

All.  The  weird  sisters,  hand  in  hand, 

Posters  of  the  sea  and  land, 

Thus  do  go  about,  about : 

Thrice  to  thine,  and  thrice  to  mine,  35 

And  thrice  again,  to  make  up  nine. 

Peace  ! the  charm  ’s  wound  up  ! 

Enter  Macbeth  and  Banquo. 

Mach.  So  foul  and  fair  a day  I have  not  seen. 

Ban.  How  far  is ’t  called  to  Forres?  What  are  these 
So  withered  and  so  wild  in  their  attire, 

That  look  not  like  the  inhabitants  o’  the  earth, 

And  yet  are  on ’t?  Live  you?  or  are  you  aught 

s 


40 


Macbeth. 


Act  I,  Scene  3. 


That  man  may  question?  You  seem  to  understand  me, 

By  each  at  once  her  chappy  finger  laying 

Upon  her  skinny  lips : you  should  be  women,  45 

And  yet  your  beards  forbid  me  to  interpret 

That  you  are  so. 

Macb.  Speak,  if  you  can  : what  are  you? 

First  Witch . All  hail,  Macbeth  ! hail  to  thee,  thane  of 
Glamis ! 

Sec.  Witch.  All  hail,  Macbeth  ! hail  to  thee,  thane  of 
Cawdor ! 

Third  Witch . All  hail,  Macbeth,  that  shalt  be  king 
hereafter ! 5o 

Ban.  Good  sir,  why  do  you  start ; and  seem  to  fear 
Things  that  do  sound  so  fair?  V the  name  of  truth, 

Are  ye  fantastical,  or  that  indeed 

Which  outwardly  ye  show  ? My  noble  partner 

You  greet  with  present  grace  and  great  prediction  55 

Of  noble  having  and  of  royal  hope, 

That  he  seems  rapt  withal : to  me  you  speak  not. 

If  you  can  look  into  the  seeds  of  time, 

And  say  which  grain  will  grow  and  which  will  not, 

Speak  then  to  me,  who  neither  beg  nor  fear  60 

Your  favors  nor  your  hate. 

First  Witch.  Hail! 

Sec.  Witch.  Hail! 

Third  Witch.  Hail ! 

First  Witch.  Lesser  than  Macbeth,  and  greater.  65 
Sec.  Witch.  Not  so  happy,  yet  much  happier. 

Third  Witch.  Thou  shalt  get  kings,  though  thou  be 
none : 

So  all  hail,  Macbeth  and  Banquo ! 

6 


. \ 


The  earth  hath  bubbles , as  the  water  has, 

And  these  are  of  them.  Whither  are  they  vanished? 

— Act  I.  Scene  3. 


Act  I,  Scene  3. 


Macbeth. 


First  Witch.  Banquo  and  Macbeth,  all  hail ! 

Macb.  Stay,  you  imperfect  speakers,  tell  me  more  : 70 
By  Sinel’s  death  I know  I am  thane  of  Glamis ; 

But  how  of  Cawdor?  the  thane  of  Cawdor  lives, 

A prosperous  gentleman ; and  to  be  king 
Stands  not  within  the  prospect  of  belief, 

No  more  than  to  be  Cawdor.  Say  from  whence  75 

You  owe  this  strange  intelligence  ? or  why 

Upon  this  blasted  heath  you  stop  our  way 

With  such  prophetic  greeting  ? Speak,  I charge  you. 

[Witches  vanish . 

Ban.  The  earth  hath  bubbles,  as  the  water  has, 

And  these  are  of  them.  Whither  are  they  vanished?  80 

Macb.  Into  the  air;  and  what  seemed  corporal  melted 
As  breath  into  the  wind.  Would  they  had  stayed ! 

Ban.  Were  such  things  here  as  we  do  speak  about? 

Or  have  we  eaten  on  the  insane  root 

That  takes  the  reason  prisoner  ? 85 

Macb.  Your  children  shall  be  kings. 

Ban.  You  shall  be  king. 

Macb.  And  thane  of  Cawdor  too  : went  it  not  so? 

Ban.  To  the  selfsame  tune  and  words.  Who ’s  here  ? 

% 

Enter  Ross  and  Angus. 

Ross.  The  king  hath  happily  received,  Macbeth, 

The  news  of  thy  success ; and  when  he  reads  90 

Thy  personal  venture  in  the  rebels’  fight, 

His  wonders  and  his  praises  do  contend 
Which  should  be  thine  or  his : silenced  with  that, 

In  viewing  o’er  the  rest  o’  the  selfsame  day, 

He  finds  thee  in  the  stout  Norweyan  ranks, 

7 


95 


Macbeth. 


Act  I,  Scene  3. 


Nothing  afeard  of  what  thyself  didst  make, 

Strange  images  of  death  r^As  tfiick  as  hail 
Came  post  with  post ; and  every  one  did  bear 
Thy  praises  in  his  kingdom’s  great  defence, 

And  poured  them  down  before  him. 

Ang . We  are  sent  ioo 

To  give  thee  from  our  royal  master  thanks ; 

Only  to  herald  thee  into  his  sight, 

Not  pay  thee. 

Ross . And,  for  an  earnest  of  a greater  honor, 

He  bade  me,  from  him,  call  thee  Thane  of  Cawdor : 105 

In  which  addition,  hail,  most  worthy  thane ! 

For  it  is  thine. 

Ban.  [Aside]  What,  can  the  devil  speak  true? 

Macb.  The  thane  of  Cawdor  lives : why  do  you  dress 
me 

In  borrowed  robes  ? 

Ang.  Who  was  the  thane  lives  yet ; 

But  under  heavy  judgment  bears  that  life  no 

Which  he  deserves  to  lose.  Whether  he  was  combined 
With  those  of  Norway,  or  did  line  the  rebel 
With  hidden  help  and  vantage,  or  that  with  both 
He  labored  in  his  cotmtry’s  wreck,  I know  not ; 

But  treasons  capital,  confessed  and  proved,  115 

Have  overthrown  him. 

Macb.  [Aside]  Glamis,  and  thane  of  Cawdor! 

The  greatest  is  behind.  [To  Ross  and  Angus]  Thanks 
for  your  pains. 

[To  Ban.]  Do  you  not  hope  your  children  shall  be  kings, 
When  those  that  gave  the  thane  of  Cawdor  to  me 
Promised  no  less  to  them  ? 


8 


Act  I,  Scene  3. 


Macbeth. 


Ban . That  trusted  home  120 

Might  yet  enkindle  you  unto  the  crown, 

Besides  the  thane  of  Cawdor.  But ’t  is  strange : 

And  oftentimes,  to  win  us  to  our  harm, 

The  instruments  of  darkness  tell  us  truths, 

Win  us  with  honest  trifles,  to  betray ’s  125 

In  deepest  consequence. 

Cousins,  a word,  I pray  you. 

Macb.  [Aside]  Two  truths  are  told, 

As  happy  prologues  to  the  swelling  act 

Of  the  imperial  theme.  — I thank  you,  gentlemen. 

[Aside]  This  supernatural  soliciting  130 

Cannot  be  ill,  cannot  be  good : if  ill, 

Why  hath  it  given  me  earnest  of  success, 

Commencing  in  a truth  ? I am  thane  of  Cawdor : 

If  good,  why  do  I yield  to  that  suggestion 

Whose  horrid  image  doth  unfix  my  hair  13s 

And  make  my  seated  heart  knock  at  my  ribs, 

Against  the  use  of  nature?  Present  fears 
Are  less  than  horrible  imaginings : 

My  thought,  whose  murder  yet  is  but  fantastical, 

Shakes  so  my  single  state  of  man  that  function  140 

Is  smothered  in  surmise,  and  nothing  is 
But  what  is  not. 

Ban.  Look,  how  our  partner’s  rapt. 

Macb.  [Aside]  If  chance  will  have  me  king,  why, 
chance  may  crown  me, 

Without  my  stir. 

Ban.  New  honors  come  upon  him, 

Like  our  strange  garments,  cleave  not  to  their  mould  145 
But  with  the  aid  of  use. 


9 


Macbeth. 


Act  I,  Scene  4. 


Macb.  [Aside]  Come  what  come  may, 

Time  and  the  hour  runs  through  the  roughest  day. 

Ban.  Worthy  Macbeth,  we  stay  upon  your  leisure. 

Macb.  Give  me  your  favor : my  dull  brain  was  wrought 
With  things  forgotten.  Kind  gentlemen,  your  pains  150 
Are  registered  where  every  day  I turn 
The  leaf  to  read  them.  Let  us  toward  the  king. 

Think  upon  what  hath  chanced,  and,  at  more  time, 

The  interim  having  weighed  it,  let  us  speak 
Our  free  hearts  each  to  other. 

Ban.  Very  gladly.  iss 

Macb.  Till  then,  enough.  Come,  friends.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV.  Forres.  The  palace. 

Flourish.  Enter  Duncan,  Malcolm,  Donalbain, 
Lennox,  and  Attendants. 

Dun.  Is  execution  done  on  Cawdor  ? Are  not 
Those  in  commission  yet  returned  ? 

Mai . My  liege, 

They  are  not  yet  come  back.  But  I have  spoke 

With  one  that  saw  him  die : who  did  report 

That  very  frankly  he  confessed  his  treasons,  5 

Implored  your  highness’  pardon  and  set  forth 

A deep  repentance : nothing  in  his  life 

Became  him  like  the  leaving  it ; he  died 

As  one  that  had  been  studied  in  his  death 

To  throw  away  the  dearest  thing  he  owed,  10 

As ’t  were  a careless  trifle. 

Dun.  There ’s  no  art 

To  find  the  mind’s  construction  in  the  face : 

IO 


Act  I,  Scene  4. 


Macbeth. 


He  was  a gentleman  on  whom  I built 
An  absolute  trust. 

Enter  Macbeth,  Banquo,  Ross,  and  Angus. 

O worthiest  cousin ! 

The  sin  of  my  ingratitude  even  now 
Was  heavy  on  me : thou  art  so  far  before 
That  swiftest  wing  of  recompense  is  slow 
To  overtake  thee.  Would  thou  hadst  less  deserved, 
That  the  proportion  both  of  thanks  and  payment 
Might  have  been  mine  ! only  I have  left  to  say, 

More  is  thy  due  than  more  than  all  can  pay. 

Macb.  The  service  and  the  loyalty  I owe, 

In  doing  it,  pays  itself.  Your  highness’  part 

Is  to  receive  our  duties ; and  our  duties 

Are  to  your  throne  and  state  children  and  servants, 

Which  do  but  what  they  should,  by  doing  every  thing 

Safe  toward  your  love  and  honor. 

Dun.  Welcome  hither : 

I have  begun  to  plant  thee,  and  will  labor 
To  make  thee  full  of  growing.  Noble  Banquo, 

That  hast  no  less  deserved,  nor  must  be  known 
No  less  to  have  done  so,  let  me  infold  thee 
And  hold  thee  to  my  heart. 

Ban.  There  if  I grow, 

The  harvest  is  your  own. 

Dun.  My  plenteous  joys, 

Wanton  in  fulness,  seek  to  hide  themselves 
In  drops  of  sorrow.  Sons,  kinsmen,  thanes, 

And  you  whose  places  are  the  nearest,  know 


is 

20 

25 

30 

35 


II 


Macbeth. 


Act  I,  Scene  5. 


We  will  establish  our  estate  upon 

Our  eldest,  Malcolm,  whom  we  name  hereafter 

The  Prince  of  Cumberland ; which  honor  must 

Not  unaccompanied  invest  him  only,  4o 

But  signs  of  nobleness,  like  stars,  shall  shine 

On  all  deservers.  From  hence  to  Inverness, 

And  bind  us  further  to  you. 

Macb.  The  rest  is  labor,  which  is  not  used  for  you : 

I ’ll  be  myself  the  harbinger  and  make  joyful  45 

The  hearing  of  my  wife  with  your  approach ; 

So  humbly  take  my  leave. 

Dun.  My  worthy  Cawdor ! 

Macb.  [Aside]  The  Prince  of  Cumberland ! that  is  a 
step 

On  which  I must  fall  down,  or  else  o’erleap, 

For  in  my  way  it  lies.  Stars,  hide  your  fires ; 50 

Let  not  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires : 

The  eye  wink  at  the  hand ; yet  let  that  be, 

Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see.  [Exit. 

Dun.  True,  worthy  Banquo ; he  is  full  so  valiant 
And  in  his  commendations  I am  fed ; 55 

It  is  a banquet  to  me.  Let ’s  after  him. 

Whose  care  is  gone  before  to  bid  us  welcome : 

It  is  a peerless  kinsman.  [Flourish.  Exeunt. 

Scene  V.  Inverness.  Macbeth's  castle. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  reading  a letter. 

Lady  M.  ‘ They  met  me  in  the  day  of  success ; and  I 
have  learned  by  the  perfectest  report,  they  have  more  in 
them  than  mortal  knowledge.  When  I burned  in  desire 
to  question  them  further,  they  made  themselves  air,  into 


12 


LIBRARY 
Of  THE 

university  of  iLimois 


Lady  Macbeth. 

Helena  Modjeska 

m| 

I T Hie  thee  hither, 

That  I may  pour  my  spirits  in  thine  ear . 

— Act  I. 


Scene  5. 


Act  I,  Scene  5. 


Macbeth. 


which  they  vanished.  Whiles  I stood  rapt  in  the  wonder 
of  it,  came  missives  from  the  king,  who  all-hailed  me 
“ Thane  of  Cawdor by  which  title,  before,  these 
weird  sisters  saluted  me,  and  referred  me  to  the  coming 
on  of  time,  with  “ Hail,  king  that  shalt  be  !”  This  have 
I thought  good  to  deliver  thee,  my  dearest  partner  of  great- 
ness, that  thou  mightst  not  lose  the  dues  of  rejoicing,  by 
being  ignorant  of  what  greatness  is  promised  thee.  Lay 
it  to  thy  heart,  and  farewell.’  13 


Glamis  thou  art,  and  Cawdor ; and  shalt  be 

What  thou  art  promised : rye t’ffo  I fear  thy  nature ; is 

It  is  too  full  o’  the  milk  of  human  kindness  . 

To  catch  the  nearest  way  r^ou  wouldst  be  great ; 

Art  not  without  ambition,  but  without 
The  illness  should  attend  it : what  thou  wouldst  highly, 
That  wouldst  thou  holily ; wouldst  not  play  false,  20 

And  yet  wouldst  wrongly  win : /thou  ’ldst ' have,  great 
Glamis, 

That  which  cries  ‘ Thus  thou  must  do,  if  thou  have  it ; ’ 

And  that  which  rather  thou  dost  fear  to  do 

Than  wishest  should  be  undone.  I Hie  thee  hither, 

That  I may  pour  my  spirits  in  thine  ear ; 25 

And  chastise  with  the  valor  of  my  tongue 
All  that  impedes  thee  from  the  golden  round, 

Which  fate  and  metaphysical  aid  doth  seem 
To  have  thee  crowned  withal. 


Enter  a Messenger. 

What  is  your  tidings  ? 
Mess . The  king  comes  here  to-night. 

13 


Macbeth. 


Act  I,  Scene  5. 


Lady  M.  Thou  'rt  mad  to  say  it ! 

Is  not  thy  master  with  him?  who,  were  't  so,  31 

Would  have  informed  for  preparation  ? 

Mess.  So  please  you,  it  is  true : our  thane  is  coming : 
One  of  my  fellows  had  the  speed  of  him, 

Who,  almost  dead  for  breath,  had  scarcely  more  3s 

Than  would  make  up  his  message. 

Lady  M.  1 ‘ (jive  him  tending; 

He  brings  great  news^.  [Exit  Messenger . 

The  raven  himself  is  hoarse 
That  croaks  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan 
Under  my  battlements.  Come,  you  spirits 
That  tend  on  mortal  thoughts,  unsex  me  here,  40 

And  fill  me  from  the  crown  to  the  toe  top-full 
Of  direst  cruelty ! make  thick  my  blood ; 

Stop  up  th'  access  and  passage  to  remorse, 

That  no  compunctious  visitings  of  nature 

Shake  my  fell  purpose,  nor  keep  peace  between  4$ 

The  effect  and  it ! Come  to  my  woman's  breasts, 

And  take  my  milk  for  gall,  you  murdering  ministers, 

Wherever  in  your  sightless  substances 

You  wait  on  nature's  mischief ! Come,  thick  night, 

And  pall  thee  in  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell,  50 

That  my  keen  knife  see  not  the  wound  it  makes, 

Nor  heaven  peep  through  the  blanket  of  the  dark, 

To  cry  ‘ Hold,  hold  ! ' 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Great  Glamis  ! worthy  Cawdor ! 
Greater  than  both,  by  the  all-hail  hereafter ! 

Thy  letters  have  transported  me  beyond 

14 


ss 


Act  I,  Scene  6. 


Macbeth 


This  ignorant  present,  and  I feel  now 
The  future  in  the  instant. 

Mach.  My  dearest  love, 

Duncan  comes  here  to-night. 

Lady  M . And  when  goes  hence? 

Macb.  To-morrow,  as  he  purposes. 

Lady  M.  O,  never 

Shall  sun  that  morrow  see  ! 60 

Your  face,  my  thane,  is  as  a book  where  men 
May  read  strange  matters.  To  beguile  the  time, 

Look  like  the  time ; bear  welcome  in  your  eye, 

Your  hand,  your  tongue  : look  like  the  innocent  flower, 
But  be  the  serpent  under ’t.  He  that ’s  coming  6s 

Must  be  provided  for : and  you  shall  put 
This  night’s  great  business  into  my  dispatch ; 

Which  shall  to  all  our  nights  and  days  to  come 
Give  solely  sovereign  sway  and  masterdom. 

Macb.  We  will  speak  further. 

Lady  M . Only  look  up  clear ; 70 

To  alter  favor  ever  is  to  fear : 

Leave  all  the  rest  to  me.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VI.  Before  Macbeth's  castle. 

Hautboys  and  torches.  Enter  Duncan,  Malcolm,  Don- 
albain,  Banquo,  Lennox,  Macduff,  Ross,  Angus, 
and  Attendants. 

Dun.  This  castle  hath  a pleasant  seat ; the  air 
Nimbly  and  sweetly  recommends  itself 
Unto  our  gentle  senses. 

Ban. 


This  guest  of  summer, 

IS 


Macbeth. 


Act  I,  Scene  6. 


The  temple-haunting  martlet,  does  approve, 

By  his  loved  mansionry,  that  the  heaven’s  breath  s 

Smells  wooingly  here : no  jutty,  frieze, 

Buttress,  nor  coign  of  vantage,  but  this  bird 
Hath  made  his  pendent  bed  and  procreant  cradle : 

Where  they  most  breed  and  haunt,  I have  observed, 

The  air  is  delicate. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Dun . See,  see,  our  honored  hostess ! io 

The  love  that  follows  us  sometime  is  our  trouble, 

Which  still  we  thank  as  love.  Herein  I teach  you 
How  you  shall  bid  God  Hid  us  for  your  pains, 

And  thank  us  for  your  trouble. 

Lady  M.  All  our  service 

In  every  point  twice  done  and  then  done  double  is 

Were  poor  and  single  business  to  contend 
Against  those  honors  deep  and  broad  wherewith 
Your  majesty  loads  our  house : for  those  of  old, 

And  the  late  dignities  heaped  up  to  them, 

We  rest  your  hermits. 

Dun.  Where ’s  the  thane  of  Cawdor  ? 20 

We  coursed  him  at  the  heels,  and  had  a purpose 
To  be  his  purveyor : but  he  rides  well ; 

And  his  great  love,  sharp  as  his  spur,  hath  holp  him 
To  his  home  before  us.  Fair  and  noble  hostess, 

We  are  your  guest  to-night. 

Lady  M.  Your  servants  ever  25 

Have  theirs,  themselves  and  what  is  theirs,  in  compt, 

To  make  their  audit  at  your  highness’  pleasure, 

Still  to  return  your  own. 

16 


Act  I,  Scene  7. 


Macbeth. 


Dun . Give  me  your  hand  ; 

Conduct  me  to  mine  host : we  love  him  highly, 

And  shall  continue  our  graces  towards  him.  30 

By  your  leave,  hostess  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VII.  Macbeth's  castle. 

Hautboys  and  torches.  Enter  a Sewer,  and  divers  Servants 
with  dishes  and  service , and  pass  over  the  stage.  Then 
enter  Macbeth. 

Macb.  If  it  were  done  when ’t  is  done,  then ’t  were  well 
It  were  done  quickly : if  th’  assassination 
Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,  and  catch 
With  his  surcease  success ; that  but  this  blow 
Might  be  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  here,  s 

But  here,  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time, 

We  ’Id  jump  the  life  to  come.  But  in  these  cases 
We  still  have  judgment  here ; that  we  but  teach 
Bloody  instructions,  which,  being  taught,  return 
To  plague  the  inventor : this  even-handed  justice  io 

Commends  th’  ingredients  of  our  poisoned  chalice  * 

To  our  own  lips.  He ’s  here  in  double  trust ; 

First,  as  I am  his  kinsman  and  his  subject, 

Strong  both  against  the  deed ; then,  as  his  host, 

Who  should  against  his  murderer  shut  the  door,  is 

Not  bear  the  knife  myself.  Besides,  this  Duncan 

Hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek,  hath  been 

So  clear  in  his  great  office,  that  his  virtues 

Will  plead  like  angels,  trumpet-tongued,  against 

The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking-off ; 20 

And  pity,  like  a naked  new-born  babe, 

17 


Macbeth. 


Act  I,  Scene  7. 


Striding  the  blast,  or  heaven’s  cherubim,  horsed 
Upon  the  sightless  couriers  of  the  air, 

Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed  in  every  eye, 

That  tears  shall  drown  the  wind.  I have  no  spur  25 
To  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent,  but  only 
Vaulting  ambition,  which  o’erleaps  itself 
And  falls  on  the  other. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

How  now  ! what  news  ? 

Lady  M.  He  has  almost  supped : why  have  you  left 
the  chamber  ? 

Macb.  Hath  he  asked  for  me? 

Lady  M.  Know  you  not  he  has  ? 

Macb.  We  will  proceed  no  further  in  this  business : 31 
He  hath  honored  me  of  late ; and  I have  bought 
Golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  people, 

Which  would  be  worn  now  in  their  newest  gloss, 

Not  cast  aside  so  soon. 

Lady  M.  Was  the  hope  drunk  35 

Wherein  you  dressed  yourself?  hath  it  slept  since? 

And  wakes  it  now,  to  look  so  green  and  pale 

At  what  it  did  so  freely?  From  this  time 

Such  I account  thy  love.  Art  thou  afeard 

To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and  valor  40 

As  thou  art  in  desire?  Wouldst  thou  have  that 

Which  thou  esteem’st  the  ornament  of  life, 

And  live  a coward  in  thine  own  esteem, 

Letting  ‘ I dare  not  ’ wait  upon  ‘ I would,’ 

Like  the  poor  cat  i’  the  adage? 

Macb , Prithee,  peace : 45 

l8 


A rt  thou  afeard 

To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and  valor 
As  thou  art  in  desire? 


Act  I.  Scene  7, 


library 


. o* 

UlilVBP 


Act  I,  Scene  7. 


Macbeth. 


I dare  do  all  that  may  become  a man ; 

Who  dares  do  more  is  none. 

Lady  M.  What  beast  was  ’t,  then, 

That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me  ? 

When  you  durst  do  it,  then  you  were  a man ; 

And,  to  be  more  than  what  you  were,  you  would  50 

Be  so  much  more  the  man.  Nor  time  nor  place 
Did  then  adhere,  and  yet  you  would  make  both : 

They  have  made  themselves,  and  that  their  fitness  now 
Does  unmake  you.  I have  given  suck,  and  know 
How  tender ’t  is  to  love  the  babe  that  milks  me : 55 

I would,  while  it  was  smiling  in  my  face, 

Have  plucked  my  nipple  from  his  boneless  gums, 

And  dashed  the  brains  out,  had  I so  sworn  as  you 
Have  done  to  this. 

Macb.  If  we  should  fail? 

Lady  M.  We  fail. 

But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking-place,  60 

And  we  ’ll  not  fail.  When  Duncan  is  asleep  — 

Whereto  the  rather  shall  his  day’s  hard  journey 

Soundly  invite  him  — his  two  chamberlains 

Will  I with  wine  and  wassail  so  convince 

That  memory,  the  warder  of  the  brain,  65 

Shall  be  a fume,  and  the  receipt  of  reason 

A limbeck  only : when  in  swinish  sleep 

Their  drenched  natures  lie  as  in  a death, 

What  cannot  you  and  I perform  upon 

The  unguarded  Duncan?  what  not  put  upon  70 

His  spongy  officers,  who  shall  bear  the  guilt 

Of  our  great  quell  ? 

Macb.  Bring  forth  men-children  only ; 

19 


Macbeth. 


Act  II,  Scene  1. 


For  thy  undaunted  mettle  should  compose 
Nothing  but  males.  Will  it  not  be  received, 

When  we  have  marked  with  blood  those  sleepy  two  75 
Of  his  own  chamber  and  used  their  very  daggers, 

That  they  have  done ’t? 

Lady  M.  Who  dares  receive  it  other, 

As  we  shall  make  our  griefs  and  clamor  roar 
Upon  his  death  ? 

Macb.  I am  settled,  and  bend  up 

Each  corporal  agent  to  this  terrible  feat.  80 

Away,  and  mock  the  time  with  fairest  show : 

False  face  must  hide  what  the  false  heart  doth  know. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  II. 

Scene  I.  Court  of  Macbeth's  castle. 

Enter  Banquo,  and  Fleance  bearing  a torch  before  him. 

Ban.  How  goes  the  night,  boy  ? 

Fie.  The  moon  is  down  ; I have  not  heard  the  clock. 

Ban.  And  she  goes  down  at  twelve. 

Fie.  I take ’t,  ’t  is  later,  sir. 

Ban . Hold,  take  my  sword.  There ’s  husbandry  in 
heaven ; 

Their  candles  are  all  out.  Take  thee  that  too.  s 

A heavy  summons  lies  like  lead  upon  me, 

And  yet  I would  not  sleep  : merciful  powers, 

Restrain  in  me  the  cursed  thoughts  that  nature 
Gives  way  to  in  repose ! 


20 


Act  II,  Scene  1. 


Macbeth, 


Enter  Macbeth,  and  a Servant  with  a torch . 

Give  me  my  sword. 

Who ’s  there  ? IO 

Macb.  A friend. 

Ban.  What,  sir,  not  yet  at  rest?  The  king ’s  a-bed : 
He  hath  been  in  unusual  pleasure,  and 
Sent  forth  great  largess  to  your  offices. 

This  diamond  he  greets  your  wife  withal,  75 

By  the  name  of  most  kind  hostess ; and  shut  up 
In  measureless  content. 

Macb.  Being  unprepared, 

Our  will  became  the  servant  to  defect ; 

Which  else  should  free  have  wrought. 

Ban.  All ’s  well. 

I dreamt  last  night  of  the  three  weird  sisters : 20 

To  you  they  have  showed  some  truth. 

Macb.  I think  not  of  them  : 

Yet,  when  we  can  entreat  an  hour  to  serve, 

We  would  spend  it  in  some  words  upon  that  business, 

If  you  would  grant  the  time. 

Ban.  At  your  kind’st  leisure. 

Macb.  If  you  shall  cleave  to  my  consent,  when ’t  is,  25 
It  shall  make  honor  for  you. 

Ban.  So  I lose  none 

In  seeking  to  augment  it,  but  still  keep 
My  bosom  franchised  and  allegiance  clear, 

I shall  be  counselled. 

Macb.  Good  repose  the  while  ! 

Ban.  Thanks,  sir : the  like  to  you  ! 30 

[Exeunt  Banquo  and  Fleance. 


21 


Macbeth. 


Act  II,  Scene  1. 


Mach.  Go  bid  thy  mistress,  when  my  drink  is  ready, 
She  strike  upon  the  bell.  Get  thee  to  bed. 

[Exit  Servant. 

Is  this  a dagger  which  I see  before  me, 

The  handle  toward  my  hand  ? Come,  let  me  clutch  thee. 

I have  thee  not,  and  yet  I see  thee  still. 

Art  thou  not,  fatal  vision,  sensible 
To  feeling  as  to  sight?  or  art  thou  but 
A dagger  of  the  mind,  a false  creation, 

Proceeding  from  the  heat-oppressed  brain? 

I see  thee  yet,  in  form  as  palpable 
As  this  which  now  I draw. 

Thou  marshalPst  me  the  way  that  I was  going ; 

And  such  an  instrument  I was  to  use. 

Mine  eyes  are  made  the  fools  o’  the  other  senses, 

Or  else  worth  all  the  rest ; I see  thee  still, 

And  on  thy  blade  and  dudgeon  gouts  of  blood, 

Which  was  not  so  before.  There ’s  no  such  thing : 

It  is  the  bloody  business  which  informs 

Thus  to  mine  eyes.  Now  o’er  the  one  half-world 

Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  abuse  50 

The  curtained  sleep  ; witchcraft  celebrates 

Pale  Hecate’s  offerings,  and  withered  murder, 

Alarumed  by  his  sentinel,  the  wolf, 

Whose  howl ’s  his  watch,  thus  with  his  stealthy  pace, 
With  Tarquin’s  ravishing  strides,  towards  his  design  55 
Moves  like  a ghost.  Thou  sure  and  firm-set  earth, 

Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk,  for  fear 
Thy  very  stones  prate  of  my  whereabout, 

And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time, 

Which  now  suits  with  it.  Whiles  I threat,  he  lives : 60 


22 


Act  II,  Scene  2. 


Macbeth. 


Words  to  the  heat  of  deeds  too  cold  breath  gives. 

[A  bell  rings. 

I go,  and  it  is  done ; the  bell  invites  me. 

Hear  it  not,  Duncan ; for  it  is  a knell 

That  summons  thee  to  heaven  or  to  hell.  [Exit. 


Scene  II.  The  same. 
Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 


/nu>  j 


; l t : 


Lady  M.  That  which  hath  made  them  drunk  hath 
made  me  bold ; 

What  hath  quenched  them  hath  given  me  fire.  Hark ! 
Peace ! 

It  was  the  owl  that  shrieked,  the  fatal  bellman, 

Which  gives  the  stern’st  good-night.  He  is  about  it : 

The  doors  are  open  ; and  the  surfeited  grooms  s 

Do  mock  their  charge  with  snores : I have  drugged  their 
possets, 

That  death  and  nature  do  contend  about  them, 

Whether  they  live  or  die. 

Macb.  \Within]  Who ’s  there?  what,  ho! 

Lady  M.  Alack,  I am  afraid  they  have  awaked,  io 
And ’t  is  not  done.  The  attempt  and  not  the  deed 
Confounds  us.  Hark  ! I laid  their  daggers  ready ; 

He  could  not  miss  ’em.  Had  he  not  resembled 
My  father  as  he  slept,  I had  done ’t. 


Enter  Macbeth. 

My  husband ! 

Macb.  I have  done  the  deed.|  Didst  thou  not  hear  a 
noise?  1 . 15 


Macbeth. 


Act  II,  Scene  2. 


Lady  M.  I heard  the  owl  scream  and  the  crickets  cry. 
Did  not  you  speak  ? 

Macb.  When? 

Lady  M . Now. 

Macb.  As  I descended? 

Lady  M.  Ay. 

Macb.  Hark ! 

Who  lies  i’  the  second  chamber? 

Lady  M.  Donalbain.  20 

Macb.  This  is  a sorry  sight. 

[Looking  on  his  hands. 

Lady  M.  A foolish  thought,  to  say  a sorry  sight. 

Macb.  There ’s  one  did  laugh  in ’s  sleep,  and  one  cried 
‘ Murder ! ’ 

That  they  did  wake  each  other : I stood  and  heard  them  : 
But  they  did  say  their  prayers,  and  addressed  them  25 
Again  to  sleep. 

Lady  M.  There  are  two  lodged  together. 

Macb.  One  cried  ‘ God  bless  us ! ’ and  ‘ Amen  ’ the 
other ; 

As  they  had  seen  me  with  these  hangman’s  hands. 
Listening  their  fear,  I could  not  say  ‘ Amen/ 

When  they  did  say  ‘ God  bless  us ! 9 

Lady  M.  Consider  it  not  so  deeply.  30 

Macb'.  But  wherefore  could  not  I pronounce  ‘Amen  ’? 
I had  mostmeed  of  blessing,  and  ‘Amen  9 
Stuck  in  my  throat. 

Lady  M.  These  deeds  must  not  be  thought 

After  these  ways ; so,  it  will  make  us  mad. 

Macb.  Methought  I heard  a voice  cry  ‘ Sleep  no 
more ! 35 


H 


Infirm  of  purpose  ! 

Give  me  the  daggers : the  sleeping  and  the  dead 
Are  but  as  pictures  — 

— Act  II.  Scene  2. 


Act  II,  Scene  2. 


Macbeth. 


Macbeth  does  murder  sleep/  the  innocent  sleep, 

Sleep  that  knits  up  the  ravelled  sleave  of  care, 

The  death  of  each  day’s  life,  sore  labor’s  bath, 

Balm  of  hurt  minds,  great  nature’s  second  course, 

Chief  nourisher  in  life’s  feast,  — 

Lady  M.  What  do  you  mean  ? 4c 

Macb.  Still  it  cried  ‘ Sleep  no  more ! ’ to  all  the  house : 

‘ Glamis  hath  murdered  sleep,  and  therefore  Cawdor 
Shall  sleep  no  more ; Macbeth  shall  sleep  no  more.’ 

Lady  M.  Who  was  it  that  thus  cried?  Why, 
worthy  thane, 

You  do  unbend  your  noble  strength,  to  think  45 

So  brainsickly  of  things.  Go  get  some  water, 

And  wash  this  filthy  witness  from  your  hand. 

Why  did  you  bring  these  daggers  from  the  place  ? 

They  must  lie  there : go  carry  them ; and  smear 
The  sleepy  grooms  with  blood. 

Macb . I ’ll  go  no  more : 50 

I am  afraid  to  think  what  I have  done ; 

Look  on  ’t  again  I dare  not. 

Lady  M.  Infirm  of  purpose  ! 

Give  me  the  daggers : the  sleeping  and  the  dead 
Are  but  as  pictures : ’t  is  the  eye  of  childhood 
That  fears  a painted  devil.  If  he  do  bleed,  55 

I ’ll  gild  the  faces  of  the  grooms  withal ; 

For  it  must  seem  their  guilt.  [Exit.  Knocking  within. 

Macb . Whence  is  that  knocking? 

How  is ’t  with  me,  when  every  noise  appals  me? 

What  hands  are  here  ? ha  ! they  pluck  out  mine  eyes. 

Will  all  great  Neptune’s  ocean  wash  this  blood  60 

Clean  from  my  hand?  No,  this  my  hand  will  rather 

25 


Macbeth. 


Act  II,  Scene  3. 


The  multitudinous  seas  incarnadine, 

Making  the  green  one  red. 

Re-enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  M.  My  hands  are  of  your  color ; but  I shame 
To  wear  a heart  so  white.  [ Knocking  within .]  I hear 
a knocking  6s 

At  the  south  entry : retire  we  to  our  chamber : 

A little  water  clears  us  of  this  deed : 

How  easy  is  it,  then ! Your  constancy 
Hath  left  you  unattended.  [ Knocking  within .]  Hark! 
more  knocking. 

Get  on  your  nightgown,  lest  occasion  call  us,  70 

And  show  us  to  be  watchers.  Be  not  lost 
So  poorly  in  your  thoughts. 

Mach.  To  know  my  deed,  't  were  best  not  know  my- 


sejf  [Knocking  within. 

Wake  Duncan  with  thy  knocking!  I would  thou 


Act  II,  Scene  3. 


Macbeth. 


ocator,  that  could  swear  in  both  the  scales  against  either 
scale ; who  committed  treason  enough  for  God’s  sake,  yet 
could  not  equivocate  to  heaven  : O,  come  in,  equivocator. 
[Knocking  within .]  Knock,  knock,  knock ! Who ’s 
there  ? Faith,  here ’s  an  English  tailor  come  hither,  for 
stealing  out  of  a French  hose:  come  in,  tailor;  here 
you  may  roast  your  goose.  [Knocking  within.]  Knock, 
knock;  never  at  quiet ! What  are  you?  But  this  place 
is  too  cold  for  hell.  I ’ll  devil-porter  it  no  further : I 
had  thought  to  have  let  in  some  of  all  professions  that 
go  the  primrose  way  to  the  everlasting  bonfire.  [Knock- 
ing within.]  Anon,  anon ! I pray  you,  remember  the 
porter.  [Opens  the  gate.  21 

Enter  Macduff  and  Lennox. 

Macd.  Was  it  so  late,  friend,  ere  you  went  to  bed, 
That  you  do  lie  so  late  ? 

Port.  ’Faith,  sir,  we  were  carousing  till  the  second 
cock. 

Macd.  Is  thy  master  stirring?  25 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Our  knocking  has  awaked  him  ; here  he  comes. 

Len.  Good  morrow,  noble  sir. 

Mach.  Good  morrow,  both. 

Macd.  Is  the  king  stirring,  worthy  thane? 

Mach.  Not  yet. 

Macd.  He  did  command  me  to  call  timely  on  him : 

I have  almost  slipped  the  hour. 

Macb. 


27 


I ’ll  bring  you  to  him.  30 


Macbeth. 


Act  II,  Scene  3. 


Macd.  I know  this  is  a joyful  trouble  to  you ; 

But  yet  ’t  is  one. 

Mach.  The  labor  we  delight  in  physics  pain. 

This  is  the  door. 

Macd.  I ’ll  make  so  bold  to  call, 

For ’t  is  my  limited  service.  [Exit. 

Len.  Goes  the  king  hence  to-day  ? 

Macb.  He  does  : he  did  appoint  so. 

Len.  The  night  has  been  unruly : where  we  lay,  3^ 
Our  chimneys  were  blown  down ; and,  as  they  say, 
Lamentings  heard  i’  the  air ; strange  screams  of  death, 
And  prophesying  with  accents  terrible 
Of  dire  combustion  and  confused  events  40 

New  hatched  to  the  woeful  time : the  obscure  bird 
Clamored  the  livelong  night : some  say,  the  earth 
Was  feverous  and  did  shake. 

Macb.  ’T  was  a rough  night. 

Len.  My  young  remembrance  cannot  parallel 
A fellow  to  it.  45 


What’s  the  matter  ? 


Re-enter  Macduff. 

Macd . O horror,  horror,  horror  ! Tongue  nor  heart 
Cannot  conceive  nor  name  thee ! 

Macb. 

Len. 

Macd.  Confusion  now  hath  made  his  masterpiece  ! 

Most  sacrilegious  murder  hath  broke  ope 

The  Lord’s  anointed  temple,  and  stole  thence  50 

The  life  o’  the  building ! 

Macb.  What  is ’t  you  say?  the  life ? 

Len . Mean  you  his  majesty  ? 

28 


Act  II,  Scene  3. 


Macbeth. 


Macd.  Approach  the  chamber,  and  destroy  your  sight 
With  a new  Gorgon : do  not  bid  me  speak ; 

See,  and  then  speak  yourselves. 

[Exeunt  Macbeth  and  Lennox. 
Awake,  awake ! 55 

Ring  the  alarum-bell.  Murder  and  treason  ! 

Banquo  and  Donalbain  ! Malcolm  ! awake  ! 

Shake  off  this  downy  sleep,  death’s  counterfeit, 

And  look  on  death  itself  ! up,  up,  and  see 

The  great  doom’s  image  ! Malcolm  ! Banquo  ! 60 

As  from  your  graves  rise  up,  and  walk  like  sprites, 

To  countenance  this  horror ! Ring  the  bell. 

[Bell  rings . 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  M.  What ’s  the  business, 

That  such  a hideous  trumpet  calls  to  parley 
The  sleepers  of  the  house?  speak,  speak  ! 

Macd.  O gentle  lady 

’Tis  not  for  you  to  hear  what  I can  speak ; 66 

The  repetition,  in  a woman’s  ear, 

Would  murder  as  it  fell. 

Enter  Banquo. 

O Banquo,  Banquo, 

Our  royal  master ’s  murdered  I 
Lady  M.  Woe,  alas  ! 

What,  in  our  house? 

Ban.  Too  cruel  any  where.  70 

Dear  Duff,  I prithee,  contradict  thyself, 

And  say  it  is  not  so. 


29 


Macbeth. 


Act  II,  Scene  3. 


Re-enter  Macbeth  and  Lennox  with  Ross. 

Mach . Had  I but  died  an  hour  before  this  chance, 

I had  lived  a blessed  time ; for,  from  this  instant, 

There  ’s  nothing  serious  in  mortality : 75 

All  is  but  toys : renown  and  grace  is  dead ; 

The  wine  of  life  is  drawn,  and  the  mere  lees 
Is  left  this  vault  to  brag  of. 

Enter  Malcolm  and  Donalbain. 

Don . What  is  amiss  ? 

Mach . You  are,  and  do  not  know  ’t : 

The  spring,  the  head,  the  fountain  of  your  blood  80 

Is  stopped  ; the  very  source  of  it  is  stopped. 

Macd.  Your  royal  father  ’s  murdered. 

Mai.  0,  by  whom? 

Len.  Those  of  his  chamber,  as  it  seemed,  had 

done ’t : 

Their  hands  and  faces  were  all  badged  with  blood; 

So  were  their  daggers,  which  unwiped  we  found  85 

Upon  their  pillows : 

They  stared,  and  were  distracted ; no  man’s  life 
Was  to  be  trusted  with  them. 

Mach.  O,  yet  I do  repent  me  of  my  fury, 

That  I did  kill  them. 

Macd.  Wherefore  did  you  so?  90 

Mach.  Who  can  be  wise,  amazed,  temperate  and 

furious, 

Loyal  and  neutral,  in  a moment  ? No  man  : 

The  expedition  of  my  violent  love 

Outrun  the  pauser,  reason.  Here  lay  Duncan, 

30 


Act  II,  Scene  3. 


Macbeth. 


His  silver  skin  laced  with  his  golden  blood ; 95 

And  his  gashed  stabs  looked  like  a breach  in  nature 
For  ruin’s  wasteful  entrance  : there,  the  murderers, 
Steeped  in  the  colors  of  their  trade,  their  daggers 
Unmannerly  breeched  with  gore:  who  could  refrain, 

That  had  a heart  to  love,  and  in  that  heart  100 

Courage  to  make  ’s  love  known  ? 

Lady  M.  Help  me  hence,  hoi 

Macd.  Look  to  the  lady. 

Mai.  [Aside  to  Don.]  Why  do  we  hold  our  tongues, 
That  most  may  claim  this  argument  for  ours? 

Don.  [Aside  to  Mai]  What  should  be  spoken  here, 
where  our  fate, 

Hid  in  an  auger-hole,  may  rush,  and  seize  us?  105 

Let ’s  away ; 

Our  tears  are  not  yet  brewed. 

Mai.  [Aside  to  Don]  Nor  our  strong  sorrow 

Upon  the  foot  of  motion. 

Ban.  Look  to  the  lady  : 

[Lady  Macbeth  is  carried  out. 
And  when  we  have  our  naked  frailties  hid, 

That  suffer  in  exposure,  let  us  meet,  no 

And  question  this  most  bloody  piece  of  work, 

To  know  it  further.  Fears  and  scruples  shake  us: 

In  the  great  hand  of  God  I stand ; and  thence 
Against  the  undivulged  pretence  I fight 
Of  treasonous  malice. 

Macd.  And  so  do  I. 

All.  So  all.  ns 

Macb.  Let ’s  briefly  put  on  manly  readiness, 

And  meet  i’  the  hall  together. 

31 


Macbeth. 


Act  II,  Scene  4. 


All.  Well  contented. 

[. Exeunt  all  but  Malcolm  and  Donalbain. 

Mai.  What  will  you  do?  Let’s  not  consort  with 
them : 

To  show  an  unfelt  sorrow  is  an  office 

Which  the  false  man  does  easy.  I ’ll  to  England.  120 

Don.  To  Ireland,  I ; our  separated  fortune 
Shall  keep  us  both  the  safer : where  we  are, 

There ’s  daggers  in  men’s  smiles : the  near  in  blood, 

The  nearer  bloody. 

Mai.  This  murderous  shaft  that ’s  shot 

Hath  not  yet  lighted,  and  our  safest  way  125 

Is  to  avoid  the  aim.  Therefore,  to  horse ; 

And  let  us  not  be  dainty  of  leave-taking, 

But  shift  away : there ’s  warrant  in  that  theft 
Which  steals  itself,  when  there ’s  no  mercy  left 
[Exeunt. 

Scene  IV.  Outside  Macbeth's  castle. 

Enter  Ross  and  an  old  Man. 

Old  M.  Threescore  and  ten  I can  remember  well : 
Within  the  volume  of  which  time  I have  seen 
Hours  dreadful  and  things  strange ; but  this  sore  night 
Hath  trifled  former  knowings. 

Ross.  Ah,  good  father, 

Thou  seest,  the  heavens,  as  troubled  with  man’s  act, 
Threaten  his  bloody  stage : by  the  clock,  ’t  is  day, 

And  yet  dark  night  strangles  the  travelling  lamp : 

Is ’t  night’s  predominance,  or  the  day’s  shame, 

That  darkness  does  the  face  of  earth  entomb, 

When  living  light  should  kiss  it? 

32 


Act  II,  Scene  4. 


Macbeth. 


Old  M.  ’T  is  unnatural,  10 

Even  like  the  deed  that ’s  done.  On  Tuesday  last, 

A falcon,  towering  in  her  pride  of  place, 

Was  by  a mousing  owl  hawked  at  and  killed. 

Ross.  And  Duncan’s  horses  — a thing  most  strange 
and  certain  — 

Beauteous  and  swift,  the  minions  of  their  race,  15 

Turned  wild  in  nature,  broke  their  stalls,  flung  out, 
Contending  ’gainst  obedience,  as  they  would  make 
War  with  mankind. 

Old  M.  ’T  is  said  they  eat  each  other. 

Ross.  They  did  so,  to  the  amazement  of  mine  eyes 
That  looked  upon ’t.  Here  comes  the  good  Macduff.  20 

Enter  Macduff. 

How  goes  the  world,  sir,  now  ? 

Macd.  Why,  see  you  not  ? 

Ross.  Is ’t  known  who  did  this  more  than  bloody 
deed? 

Macd.  Those  that  Macbeth  hath  slain. 

Ross.  Alas,  the  day  ! 

What  good  could  they  pretend  ? 

Macd.  They  were  suborned : 

Malcolm  and  Donalbain,  the  king’s  two  sons,  25 

Are  stolen  away  and  fled ; which  puts  upon  them 
Suspicion  of  the  deed. 

Ross.  ’Gainst  nature  still ! 

Thriftless  ambition,  that  wilt  ravin  up 

Thine  own  life’s  means ! Then ’t  is  most  like 

The  sovereignty  will  fall  upon  Macbeth.  30 

33 


Macbeth. 


Act  III,  Scene  1. 


Macd.  He  is  already  named,  and  gone  to  Scone 
To  lpe  invested. 

Ross.  Where  is  Duncan’s  body  ? 

Macd.  Carried  to  Colmekill, 

The  sacred  storehouse  of  his  predecessors, 

And  guardian  of  their  bones. 

Ross.  Will  you  to  Scone?  35 

Macd.  No,  cousin,  I ’ll  to  Fife. 

Ross.  Well,  I will  thither. 

Macd.  Well,  may  you  see  things  well  done  there: 
adieu ! 

Lest  our  old  robes  sit  easier  than  our  new ! 

Ross.  Farewell,  father. 

Old  M.  God’s  benison  go  with  you ; and  with  those  40 
That  would  make  good  of  bad,  and  friends  of  foes ! 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  III. 


Scene  I.  Forres.  The  palace. 

Enter  Banquo. 

f 

Ban.  Thou  hast  it  now : king,  Cawdor,  Glamis,  all, 

As  the  weird  women  promised,  and,  I fear, 

Thou  playedst  most  foully  for ’t  i yet  it  was  said 
It  should  not  stand  in  thy  posterity, 

But  that  myself  should  be  the  root  and  father  5 

Of  many  kings.  If  there  come  truth  from  them  — 

As  upon  thee,  Macbeth,  their  speeches  shine  — 

Why,  by  the  verities  on  thee  made  good, 

May  they  not  be  my  oracles  as  well, 

And  set  me  up  in  hope?  But  hush  ! no  more.  10 

34 


Act  III,  Scene  1. 


Macbeth. 


Sennet  sounded.  Enter  Macbeth,  as  king , Lady  Mac- 
beth, as  queen , Lennox,  Ross,  Lords,  Ladies,  and 

Attendants. 

Macb.  Here  ’s  our  chief  guest. 

Lady  M . If  he  had  been  forgotten, 

It  had  been  as  a gap  in  our  great  feast, 

And  all-thing  unbecoming. 

Macb.  To-night  we  hold  a solemn  supper,  sir, 

And  I ’ll  request  your  presence. 

Ban . Let  your  highness  1 5 

Command  upon  me ; to  the  which  my  duties 
Are  with  a most  indissoluble  tie 
For  ever  knit. 

Macb.  Ride  you  this  afternoon? 

Ban.  Ay,  my  good  lord  . 20 

Macb.  We  should  have  else  desired  your  good  advice, 
Which  still  hath  been  both  grave  and  prosperous, 

In  this  day’s  council ; but  we  ’ll  take  to-morrow. 

Is ’t  far  you  ride? 

Ban.  As  far,  my  lord,  as  will  fill  up  the  time  25 

’Twixt  this  and  supper : go  not  my  horse  the  better, 

I must  become  a borrower  of  the  night 
For  a dark  hour  or  twain. 

Macb.  Fail  not  our  feast. 

Ban.  My  lord,  I will  not. 

Macb.  We  hear,  our  bloody  cousins  are  bestowed  30 
In  England  and  in  Ireland,  not  confessing 
Their  cruel  parricide,  filling  their  hearers 
With  strange  invention : but  of  that  to-morrow, 

When  therewithal  we  shall  have  cause  of  state 

35 


Macbeth. 


Act  III,  Scene  1. 


Craving  us  jointly.  Hie  you  to  horse : adieu,  35 

Till  you  return  at  night.  Goes  Fleance  with  you? 

Ban.  Ay,  my  good  lord : our  time  does  call  upon ’s. 

Macb.  I wish  your  horses  swift  and  sure  of  foot. 

And  so  I do  commend  you  to  their  backs. 

Farewell.  [Exit  Banquo.  Ao 

Let  every  man  be  master  of  his  time 

Till  seven  at  night : to  make  society 

The  sweeter  welcome,  we  will  keep  ourself 

Till  supper-time  alone : while  then,  God  be  with  you  ! 

[Exeunt  all  but  Macbeth , and  an  attendant. 
Sirrah,  a word  with  you : attend  those  men  45 

Our  pleasure  ? 

Atten.  They  are,  my  lord,  without  the  palace  gate. 

Macb.  Bring  them  before  us.  [Exit  Attendant. 

To  be  thus  is  nothing ; 
But  to  be  safely  thus.  — Our  fears  in  Banquo 
Stick  deep ; and  in  his  royalty  of  nature  50 

Reigns  that  which  would  be  feared : ’t  is  much  he  dares ; 
And,  to  that  dauntless  temper  of  his  mind, 

He  hath  a wisdom  that  doth  guide  his  valor 

To  act  in  safety.  There  is  none  but  he 

Whose  being  I do  fear : and,  under  him,  55 

My  Genius  is  rebuked;  as,  it  is  said, 

Mark  Antony’s  was  by  Caesar.  He  chid  the  sisters 
When  first  they  put  the  name  of  king  upon  me, 

And  bade  them  speak  to  him : then  prophet-like 

They  hailed  him  father  to  a line  of  kings : 60 

Upon  my  head  they  placed  a fruitless  crown, 

And  put  a barren  sceptre  in  my  gripe, 

Thence  to  be  wrenched  with  an  unlineal  hand, 

36 


Act  III,  Scene  1. 


Macbeth. 


No  son  of  mine  succeeding.  If  ’t  be  so, 

For  Banquo’s  issue  have  I filed  my  mind ; 65 

For  them  the  gracious  Duncan  have  I murdered; 

Put  rancors  in  the  vessel  of  my  peace 
Only  for  them  ; and  mine  eternal  jewel 
Given  to  the  common  enemy  of  man, 

To  make  them  kings,  the  seed  of  Banquo  kings ! 70 

Rather  than  so,  come  fate  into  the  list, 

And  champion  me  to  the  utterance  ! Who ’s  there  ? 

Re-enter  Attendant,  with  two  Murderers. 

Now  go  to  the  door,  and  stay  there  till  we  call. 

[Exit  Attendant . 

Was  it  not  yesterday  we  spoke  together? 

First  Mur.  It  was,  so  please  your  highness. 

Macb.  Well  then,  now  7s 

Have  you  considered  of  my  speeches  ? Know 
That  it  was  he  in  the  times  past  which  held  you 
So  under  fortune,  which  you  thought  had  been 
Our  innocent  self : this  I made  good  to  you 
In  our  last  conference,  passed  in  probation  with  you,  80 
How  you  were  borne  in  hand,  how  crossed,  the  instru- 
ments, 

Who  wrought  with  them,  and  all  things  else  that  might 
To  half  a soul  and  to  a notion  crazed 
Say  ‘ Thus  did  Banquo.’ 

First  Mur.  You  made  it  known  to  us. 

Macb . I did  so,  and  went  further,  which  is  now  8s 
Our  point  of  second  meeting.  Do  you  find 
Your  patience  so  predominant  in  your  nature 
That  you  can  let  this  go  ? Are  you  so  gospelled 

37 


Macbeth. 


Act  III,  Scene  1. 


To  pray  for  this  good  man  and  for  his  issue, 

Whose  heavy  hand  hath  bowed  you  to  the  grave 
And  beggared  yours  for  ever  ? 

First  Mur.  We  are  men,  my  liege. 

Macb.  Ay,  in  the  catalogue  ye  go  for  men ; 

As  hounds  and  greyhounds,  mongrels,  spaniels,  curs, 
Shoughs,  water-rugs  and  demi-wolves,  are  clept 
All  by  the  name  of  dogs : the  valued  file 
Distinguishes  the  swift,  the  slow,  the  subtle, 

The  housekeeper,  the  hunter,  every  one 
According  to  the  gift  which  bounteous  nature 
Hath  in  him  closed ; whereby  he  does  receive 
Particular  addition,  from  the  bill 
That  writes  them  all  alike : and  so  of  men. 

Now,  if  you  have  a station  in  the  file, 

Not  i’  the  worst  rank  of  manhood,  say  ’t ; 

And  I will  put  that  business  in  your  bosoms, 

Whose  execution  takes  your  enemy  off, 

Grapples  you  to  the  heart  and  love  of  us, 

Who  wear  our  health  but  sickly  in  his  life, 

Which  in  his  death  were  perfect. 

Sec.  Mur.  * I am  one,  my  liege, 

Whom  the  vile  blows  and  buffets  of  the  world 
Have  so  incensed  that  I am  reckless  what  no 

I do  to  spite  the  world. 

First  Mur.  And  I another 

So  weary  with  disasters,  tugged  with  fortune, 

That  I would  set  my  life  on  any  chance, 

To  mend  it,  or  be  rid  on  ’t. 

Macb.  Both  of  you 

Know  Banquo  was  your  enemy. 

38 


95 


105 


And  I will  put  that  business  in  your  bosoms , 

Whose  execution  takes  your  enemy  off. 

Act  III.  Scene  i. 


LIBRARY 
Of  THf 

UN1VERSHY  ,Of  UliNOiS 


Act  III,  Scene  I. 


Macbeth. 


Both  Mur . True,  my  lord.  ns 

Mach.  So  is  he  mine  ; and  in  such  bloody  distance, 
That  every  minute  of  his  being  thrusts 
Against  my  near’st  of  life : and  though  I could 
With  barefaced  power  sweep  him  from  my  sight 
And  bid  my  will  avouch  it,  yet  I must  not,  isc 

For  certain  friends  that  are  both  his  and  mine, 

Whose  loves  I may  not  drop,  but  wail  his  fall 
Who  I myself  struck  down ; and  thence  it  is, 

That  I to  your  assistance  do  make  love, 

Masking  the  business  from  the  common  eye  125 

For  sundry  weighty  reasons. 

Sec.  Mur.  We  shall,  my  lord, 

Perform  what  you  command  us. 

First  Mur.  Though  our  lives  — 

Mach.  Your  spirits  shine  through  you.  Within  this 
hour  at  most 

I will  advise  you  where  to  plant  yourselves ; 

Acquaint  you  with  the  perfect  spy  o’  the  time,  130 

The  moment  on  ’t ; for ’t  must  be  done  to-night, 

And  something  from  the  palace  ; always  thought 
That  I require  a clearness : and  with  him  — 

To  leave  no  rubs  nor  blotches  in  the  work  — 

Fleance  his  son,  that  keeps  him  company,  13s 

Whose  absence  is  no  less  material  to  me 
Than  is  his  father’s,  must  embrace  the  fate 
Of  that  dark  hour.  Resolve  yourselves  apart : 

I ’ll  come  to  you  anon. 

Both  Mur.  We  are  resolved,  my  lord. 

Mach.  I ’ll  call  upon  you  straight : abide  within  . 140 

[Exeunt  Murderers. 


39 


Macbeth. 


Act  III,  Scene  2. 


It  is  concluded.  Banquo,  thy  soul’s  flight, 

If  it  find  heaven,  must  find  it  out  to-night.  [Exit. 

Scene  II.  The  palace. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth  and  a Servant. 

Lady  M.  Is  Banquo  gone  from  court? 

Serv.  Ay,  madam,  but  returns  again  to-night. 

Lady  M.  Say  to  the  king,  I would  attend  his  leisure 
For  a few  words. 

Serv.  Madam,  I will.  [Exit. 

Lady  M.  Nought ’s  had,  all ’s  spent, 

Where  our  desire  is  got  without  content : 5 

T is  safer  to  be  that  which  we  destroy 
Than  by  destruction  dwell  in  doubtful  joy. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

How  now,  my  lord ! why  do  you  keep  alone, 

Of  sorriest  fancies  your  companions  making, 

Using  those  thoughts  which  should  indeed  have  died  10 
With  them  they  think  on?  Things  without  all  remedy 
Should  be  without  regard  : what ’s  done  is  done. 

Mach.  We  have  scotched  the  snake,  not  killed  it : 

She  ’ll  close  and  be  herself,  whilst  our  poor  malice 
Remains  in  danger  of  her  former  tooth.  15 

But  let  the  frame  of  things  disjoint,  both  the  worlds  suffer, 
Ere  we  will  eat  our  meal  in  fear  and  sleep 
In  the  affliction  of  these  terrible  dreams 
That  shake  us  nightly  : better  be  with  the  dead, 

Whom  we,  to  gain  our  peace,  have  sent  to  peace, 

40 


20 


Act  III,  Scene  2. 


Macbeth. 


Than  on  the  torture  of  the  mind  to  lie 
In  restless  ecstasy.  Duncan  is  in  his  grave ; 

After  life’s  fitful  fever  he  sleeps  well ; 

Treason  has  done  his  worst : nor  steel,  nor  poison, 
Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing, 

Can  touch  him  further. 

Lady  M.  Come  on  ; 

Gentle  my  lord,  sleek  o’er  your  rugged  looks ; 

Be  bright  and  jovial  among  your  guests  to-night. 

Mach.  So  shall  I,  love  ; and  so,  I pray,  be  you : 

Let  your  remembrance  apply  to  Banquo ; 

Present  him  eminence,  both  with  eye  and  tongue : 
Unsafe  the  while,  that  we 

Must  lave  our  honors  in  these  flattering  streams, 

And  make  our  faces  vizards  to  our  hearts, 

Disguising  what  they  are. 

Lady  M.  You  must  leave  this. 

Macb.  O,  full  of  scorpions  is  my  mind,  dear  wife  ! 
Thou  know’st  that  Banquo,  and  his  Fleance,  lives. 
Lady  M.  But  in  them  nature’s  copy ’s  not  eterne. 
Macb.  There ’s  comfort  yet ; they  are  assailable ; 
Then  be  thou  jocund  : ere  the  bat  hath  flown 
His  cloistered  flight,  ere  to  black  Hecate’s  summons 
The  shard-borne  beetle  with  his  drowsy  hums 
Hath  rung  night’s  yawning  peal,  there  shall  be  done 
A deed  of  dreadful  note. 

Lady  M.  What ’s  to  be  done  ? 

Macb.  Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge,  dearest  chuck, 
Till  thou  applaud  the  deed.  Come,  seeling  night, 

Scarf  up  the  tender  eye  of  pitiful  day ; 

And  with  thy  bloody  and  invisible  hand 

41 


25 

30 

35 

40 

45 


Macbeth. 


Act  III,  Scene  3. 


Cancel  and  tear  to  pieces  that  great  bond 

Which  keeps  me  pale  ! Light  thickens ; and  the  crow  50 

Makes  wing  to  the  rooky  wood  : 

Good  things  of  day  begin  to  droop  and  drowse ; 

Whiles  night’s  black  agents  to  their  preys  do  rouse. 

Thou  marveirst  at  my  words  : but  hold  thee  still : 

Things  bad  begun  make  strong  themselves  by  ill.  55 

So,  prithee,  go  with  me.  [ Exeunt . 

Scene  III.  A park  near  the  palace. 

Enter  three  Murderers. 

First  Mur.  But  who  did  bid  thee  join  with  us? 

Third  Mur.  Macbeth. 

Sec.  Mur.  He  needs  not  our  mistrust,  since  he  de- 
livers 

Our  offices  and  what  we  have  to  do 
To  the  direction  just. 

First  Mur.  Then  stand  with  us. 

The  west  yet  glimmers  with  some  streaks  of  day : 5 

Now  spurs  the  lated  traveller  apace 
To  gain  the  timely  inn ; and  near  approaches 
The  subject  of  our  watch. 

Third  Mur.  Hark  ! I hear  horses. 

Ban . [W ithin ] Give  us  a light  there,  ho  ! 

Sec.  Mur.  Then ’t  is  he  : the  rest 

That  are  within  the  note  of  expectation  10 

Already  are  i’  the  court. 

First  Mur.  His  horses  go  about. 

Third  Mur.  Almost  a mile  : but  he  does  usually, 

42 


Act  III,  Scene  4. 


Macbeth. 


So  all  men  do,  from  hence  to  the  palace  gate 
Make  it  their  walk. 

Sec.  Mur.  A light,  a light ! 

Enter  Banquo,  and  Fleance  with  a torch. 

. Third  Mur.  ’T  is  he. 

First  Mur.  Stand  to  ’ t . 15 

Ban.  It  will  be  rain  to-night. 

First  Mur.  Let  it  come  down. 

[They  set  upon  Banquo. 
Ban.  O,  treachery ! Fly,  good  Fleance,  fly,  fly,  fly ! 
Thou  mayst  revenge.  O slave  ! [Dies.  Fleance  escapes. 
Third  Mur.  Who  did  strike  out  the  light  ? 

First  Mur.  Was’t  not  the  way? 

Third  Mur.  There ’s  but  one  down  ; the  son  is  fled. 

Sec.  Mur.  We  have  lost 

Best  half  of  our  affair.  21 

First  Mur.  Well,  let  ’s  away,  and  say  how  much  is 
done.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV.  The  same.  Hall  in  the  palace. 

A banquet  prepared.  Enter  Macbeth,  Lady  Macbeth, 
Ross,  Lennox,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 

Macb.  You  know  your  own  degrees ; sit  down : at 
first 

And  last  the  hearty  welcome. 

Lords.  Thanks  to  your  majesty. 

Macb.  Ourself  will  mingle  with  society, 

And  play  the  humble  host. 


43 


Macbeth. 


Act  III,  Scene  4. 


Our  hostess  keeps  her  state,  but  in  best  time  5 

We  will  require  her  welcome. 

Lady  M.  Pronounce  it  for  me,  sir,  to  all  our  friends; 
For  my  heart  speaks  they  are  welcome. 

First  Murderer  appears  at  the  door. 

Mach.  See,  they  encounter  thee  with  their  hearts’ 
thanks. 

Both  sides  are  even  : here  I ’ll  sit  i’  the  midst  I IO 

Be  large  in  mirth ; anon  we  ’ll  drink  a measure 
The  table  round.  [Approaching  the  door.]  There ’s 
blood  upon  thy  face. 

Mur.  ’T  is  Banquo’s  then. 

Macb.  ’T  is  better  thee  without  than  he  within. 

Is  he  dispatched?  is 

Mur.  My  lord,  his  throat  is  cut ; that  I did  for  him. 
Macb.  Thou  art  the  best  o’  the  cut-throats : yet  he ’s 
good 

That  did  the  like  for  Fleance  : if  thou  didst  it, 

Thou  art  the  nonpareil. 

Mur.  Most  royal  sir, 

Fleance  is  ’scaped.  20 

Macb.  Then  comes  my  fit  again : I had  else  been 
perfect, 

Whole  as  the  marble,  founded  as  the  rock, 

As  broad  and  general  as  the  casing  air  : 

But  now  I am  cabined,  cribbed,  confined,  bound  in 
To  saucy  doubts  and  fears.  But  Banquo ’s  safe?  25 
Mur.  Ay,  my  good  lord  : safe  in  a ditch  he  bides, 

With  twenty  trenched  gashes  on  his  head ; 

The  least  a death  to  nature. 

44 


Act  III,  Scene  4. 


Macbeth. 


Mach.  Thanks  for  that : 

There  the  grown  serpent  lies ; the  worm  that ’s  fled 
Hath  nature  that  in  time  will  venom  breed,  3© 

No  teeth  for  the  present.  Get  thee  gone  : to-morrow 
We  ’ll  hear  ourselves  again.  [Exit  Murderer. 

Lady  M,  My  royal  lord, 

You  do  not  give  the  cheer : the  feast  is  sold 
That  is  not  often  vouched,  while ’t  is  a-making, 

’T  is  given  with  welcome  : to  feed  were  best  at  home  ; 3s 
From  thence  the  sauce  to  meat  is  ceremony : 

Meeting  were  bare  without  it. 

Mach.  Sweet  remembrancer ! 

Now,  good  digestion  wait  on  appetite, 

And  health  on  both  ! 

Len.  May ’t  please  your  highness  sit. 

[The  Ghost  of  Banquo  enters , and  sits  in  Macbeth's 
place.] 

Macb.  Here  had  we  now  our  country’s  honor 
roofed,  40 

Were  the  graced  person  of  our  Banquo  present ; 

Who  may  I rather  challenge  for  unkindness 
Than  pity  for  mischance  ! 

Ross.  His  absence,  sir, 

Lays  blame  upon  his  promise.  Please  ’t  your  highness 
To  grace  us  with  your  royal  company.  45 

Macb.  The  table ’s  full. 

Len.  Here  is  a place  reserved,  sir. 

Macb.  Where  ? 

Len.  Here,  my  good  lord.  What  is’t  that  moves 
your  highness  ? 


45 


Macbeth. 


Act  III,  Scene  4. 


Mach.  Which  of  you  have  done  this  ? 

Lords.  What,  my  good  lord? 

Macb.  Thou  canst  not  say  I did  it : never  shake  so 
Thy  gory  locks  at  me. 

Ross.  Gentlemen,  rise ; his  highness  is  not  well. 

Lady  M.  Sit,  worthy  friends : my  lord  is  often  thus, 
And  hath  been  from  his  youth  : pray  you,  keep  seat ; 

The  fit  is  momentary ; upon  a thought  55 

He  will  again  be  well : if  much  you  note  him, 

You  shall  offend  him  and  extend  his  passion  : 

Feed,  and  regard  him  not.  Are  you  a man? 

Macb.  Ay,  and  a bold  one,  that  dare  look  on  that 
Which  might  appal  the  devil. 

Lady  M.  0 proper  stuff ! 60 

This  is  the  very  painting  of  your  fear  : 

This  is  the  air-drawn  dagger  which,  you  said, 

Led  you  to  Duncan.  O,  these  flaws  and  starts, 

Impostors  to  true  fear,  would  well  become 
A woman’s  story  at  a winter’s  fire,  65 

Authorized  by  her  grandam.  Shame  itself  ! 

Why  do  you  make  such  faces?  When  all ’s  done, 

You  look  but  on  a stool. 

Macb.  Prithee,  see  there ! behold ! look ! lo  ! how 
say  you  ? 

Why,  what  care  I ? If  thou  canst  nod,  speak  too.  70 

If  charnel-houses  and  our  graves  must  send 
Those  that  we  bury  back,  our  monuments 
Shall  be  the  maws  of  kites.  [Ghost  vanishes. 

Lady  M.  What,  quite  unmanned  in 

folly? 

Macb.  If  I stand  here,  I saw  him. 

46 


Thou  canst  not  say  I did  it : never  shake 
Thy  gory  locks  at  me. 

— Act  III.  Scene  4. 


* Of  „ 


f0/.v 


Act  III,  Scene  4. 


Macbeth. 


Lady  M.  Fie,  for  shame  ! 

Macb.  Blood  hath  been  shed  ere  now,  i’  the  olden 
time,  75 

Ere  human  statute  purged  the  gentle  weal ; 

Ay,  and  since  too,  murders  have  been  performed 
Too  terrible  for  the  ear : the  times  have  been, 

That,  when  the  brains  were  out,  the  man  would  die, 

And  there  an  end ; but  now  they  rise  again,  80 

With  twenty  mortal  murders  on  their  crowns, 

And  push  us  from  our  stools  : this  is  more  strange 
Than  such  a murder  is. 

Lady  M.  My  worthy  lord, 

Your  noble  friends  do  lack  you. 

Macb . I do  forget. 

Do  not  muse  at  me,  my  most  worthy  friends ; 85 

I have  a strange  infirmity,  which  is  nothing 
To  those  that  know  me.  Come,  love  and  health  to  all 
Then  I ’ll  sit  down.  Give  me  some  wine  ; fill  full. 

I drink  to  the  general  joy  o’  the  whole  table, 

And  to  our  dear  friend  Banquo,  whom  we  miss ; 90 

Would  he  were  here  ! to  all,  and  him,  we  thirst, 

And  all  to  all. 

Lords . Our  duties,  and  the  pledge. 

Re-enter  Ghost. 

Macb.  Avaunt ! and  quit  my  sight ! let  the  earth  hide 
thee ! 

Thy  bones  are  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold  ; 

Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes  95 

Which  thou  dost  glare  with  I 
Lady  M.  Think  of  this,  good  peers, 


47 


Macbeth. 


Act  III,  Scene  4. 


But  as  a thing  of  custom  : ’t  is  no  other ; 

Only  it  spoils  the  pleasure  of  the  time. 

Macb.  What  man  dare,  I dare  : 

Approach  thou  like  the  rugged  Russian  bear,  ioo 

The  armed  rhinoceros,  or  the  Hyrcan  tiger ; 

Take  any  shape  but  that,  and  my  firm  nerves 
Shall  never  tremble  : or  be  alive  again, 

And  dare  me  to  the  desert  with  thy  sword ; 

If  trembling  I inhabit  then,  protest  me  205 

The  baby  of  a girl.  Hence,  horrible  shadow  ! 

Unreal  mockery,  hence  ! [Ghost  vanishes. 

Why,  so  : being  gone, 

I am  a man  again.  Pray  you,  sit  still. 

Lady  M.  You  have  displaced  the  mirth,  broke  the 
good  meeting, 

With  most  admired  disorder. 

Macb.  Can  such  things  be,  no 

And  overcome  us  like  a summer’s  cloud, 

Without  our  special  wonder?  You  make  me  strange 
Even  to  the  disposition  that  I owe, 

When  now  I think  you  can  behold  such  sights, 

And  keep  the  natural  ruby  of  your  cheeks,  ns 

When  mine  is  blanched  with  fear. 

Ross.  What  sights,  my  lord  ? 

Lady  M.  I pray  you,  speak  not ; he  grows  worse  and 
worse ; 

Question  enrages  him.  At  once,  good  night : 

Stand  not  upon  the  order  of  your  going, 

But  go  at  once. 

Len.  Good  night ; and  better  health  no 

Attend  his  majesty ! 


48 


Act  III,  Scene  4. 


Macbeth. 


Lady  M.  A kind  good  night  to  all ! 

[Exeunt  all  but  Macbeth  and  Lady  M. 
Macb.  It  will  have  blood  ; they  say,  blood  will  have 
blood : 

Stones  have  been  known  to  move  and  trees  to  speak ; 
Augurs  and  understood  relations  have 
By  magot-pies  and  choughs  and  rooks  brought  forth  125 
The  secret’st  man  of  blood.  What  is  the  night? 

Lady  M.  Almost  at  odds  with  morning,  which  is 
which. 

Macb.  How  say’st  thou,  that  Macduff  denies  his  person 
At  our  great  bidding? 

Lady  M.  Did  you  send  to  him,  sir? 

Macb.  I hear  it  by  the  way ; but  I will  send  : 130 

There  ’s  not  a one  of  them  but  in  his  house 
I keep  a servant  feed.  I will  to-morrow, 

And  betimes  I will,  to  the  weird  sisters : 

More  shall  they  speak ; for  now  I am  bent  to  know, 

By  the  worst  means,  the  worst.  For  mine  own  good,  135 
All  causes  shall  give  way : I am  in  blood 
Stepped  in  so  far  that,  should  I wade  no  more, 

Returning  were  as  tedious  as  go  o’er : 

Strange  things  I have  in  head,  that  will  to  hand  ; 

Which  must  be  acted  ere  they  may  be  scanned.  140 

Lady  M.  You  lack  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep. 
Macb.  Come,  we  ’ll  to  sleep.  My  strange  and  self- 
abuse 

Is  the  initiate  fear  that  wants  hard  use : 

We  are  yet  but  young  in  deed.  [Exeunt. 


49 


Macbeth. 


Act  III,  Scene  5. 


Scene  V.  A Heath. 

Thunder.  Enter  the  three  Witches  meeting  Hecate. 

First  Witch.  Why,  how  now,  Hecate ! you  look 
angerly. 

Hec.  Have  I not  reason,  beldams  as  you  are, 

Saucy  and  overbold?  How  did  you  dare 
To  trade  and  traffic  with  Macbeth 

In  riddles  and  affairs  of  death ; 5 

And  I,  the  mistress  of  your  charms, 

The  close  contriver  of  all  harms, 

Was  never  called  to  bear  my  part, 

Or  show  the  glory  of  our  art  ? 

And,  which  is  worse,  all  you  have  done  10 

Hath  been  but  for  a wayward  son, 

Spiteful  and  wrathful,  who,  as  others  do, 

Loves  for  his  own  ends,  not  for  you. 

But  make  amends  now  : get  you  gone, 

And  at  the  pit  of  Acheron  15 

Meet  me  i’  the  morning  : thither  he 
Will  come  to  know  his  destiny : 

Your  vessels  and  your  spells  provide, 

Your  charms  and  every  thing  beside. 

I am  for  the  air : this  night  I ’ll  spend  20 

Unto  a dismal  and  a fatal  end  : 

Great  business  must  be  wrought  ere  noon : 

Upon  the  corner  of  the  moon 

There  hangs  a vaporous  drop  profound  ; 

I ’ll  catch  it  ere  it  comes  to  ground  : 25 

And  that  distilled  by  magic  sleights 
Shall  raise  such  artificial  sprites 

50 


Act  III, I Scene  6. 


Macbeth. 


As  by  the  strength  of  their  illusion 
Shall  draw  him  on  to  his  confusion : 

He  shall  spurn  fate,  scorn  death,  and  bear  30 

His  hopes  ’bove  wisdom,  grace  and  fear  : 

And  you  all  know,  security^ 

Is  mortals^  chiefest  enemy. 

[Music  and  a song  within : ‘ Come  away,  come  away/ 
&c. 

Hark ! I am  called  ; my  little  spirit,  see,  34 

Sits  in  a foggy  cloud,  and  stays  for  me.  [Exit. 

First  Witch.  Come,  let’s  make  haste;  she’ll  soon  be 
back  again.  [Exewit. 

Scene  VI.  Forres.  The  palace. 

Enter  Lennox  and  another  Lord. 

Len.  My  former  speeches  have  but  hit  your  thoughts, 
Which  can  interpret  further : only,  I say, 

Things  have  been  strangely  borne.  The  gracious  Duncan 
Was  pitied  of  Macbeth  : marry,  he  was  dead  : 

And  the  right-valiant  Banquo  walked  too  late ; 5 

Whom,  you  may  say,  if ’t  please  you,  Fleance  killed, 

For  Fleance  fled  : men  must  not  walk  too  late. 

Who  cannot  want  the  thought  how  r^ionstrous 

It  was  for  Malcolm  and  for  Donalbain 

To  kill  their  gracious  father  ? damned  fact ! 10 

How  it  did  grieve  Macbeth ! did  he  not  straight 

In  pious  rage  the  two  delinquents  tear, 

That  were  the  slaves  of  drink  and  thralls  of  sleep? 

Was  not  that  nobly  done?  Ay,  and  wisely  too ; 

For  ’t  would  have  angered  any  heart  alive  15 

SI 


Macbeth. 


Act  III,  Scene  6. 


To  hear  the  men  deny  ’t.  So  that,  I say, 

He  has  borne  all  things  well : and  I do  think 
That  had  he  Duncan’s  sons  under  his  key  — 

As,  an  ’t  please  heaven,  he  shall  not  — they  should  find 
What  ’t  were  to  kill  a father ; so  should  Fleance  . 20 

But,  peace ! for  from  broad  words  and  ’cause  he  failed 
His  presence  at  the  tyrant’s  feast,  I hear 
Macduff  lives  in  disgrace  : sir,  can  you  tell 
Where  he  bestows  himself? 

Lord.  The  son  of  Duncan, 

From  whom  this  tyrant  holds  the  due  of  birth,  25 

Lives  in  the  English  court,  and  is  received 

Of  the  most  pious  Edward  with  such  grace 

That  the  malevolence  of  fortune  nothing 

Takes  from  his  high  respect : thither  Macduff 

Is  gone  to  pray  the  holy  king,  upon  his  aid  30 

To  wake  Northumberland  and  warlike  Siward : 

That,  by  the  help  of  these  — with  Him  above 
To  ratify  the  work  — we  may  again 
Give  to  our  tables  meat,  sleep  to  our  nights, 

Free  from  our  feasts  and  banquets  bloody  knives,  35 
Do  faithful  homage  and  receive  free  honors : 

All  which  we  pine  for  now : and  this  report 
Hath  so  exasperate  the  king  that  he 
Prepares  for  some  attempt  of  war. 

Len.  Sent  he  to  Macduff? 

Lord.  He  did : and  with  an  absolute  ‘ Sir,  not  I,’  40 

The  cloudy  messenger  turns  me  his  back, 

And  hums,  as  who  should  say  ‘ You  ’ll  rue  the  time 
That  clogs  me  with  this  answer.’ 

Len . And  that  well  might 


52 


Act  IV,  Scene  1. 


Macbeth. 


Advise  him  to  a caution,  to  hold  what  distance 

His  wisdom  can  provide.  Some  holy  angel  45 

Fly  to  the  court  of  England  and  unfold 

His  message  ere  he  come,  that  a swift  blessing 

May  soon  return  to  this  our  suffering  country 

Under  a hand  accursed  ! 

Lord . I ’ll  send  my  prayers  with  him. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 


Scene  I.  A cavern.  In  the  middle , a boiling  tauldron. 
Thunder.  Enter  the  three  Witches. 

First  Witch.  Thrice  the  brinded  cat  hath  mewed. 

Sec.  Witch.  Thrice  and  once  the  hedge-pig  whined. 

Third  Witch.  Harpier  cries,  ‘T  is  time,  ’t  is  time.’ 

First  Witch.  Round  about  the  cauldron  go ; 

In  the  poisoned  entrails  throw.  5 

Toad,  that  under  cold  stone 
Days  and  nights  has  thirty  one 
Sweltered  venom  sleeping  got, 

Boil  thou  first  i’  the  charmed  pot. 

All.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble;  10 

Fire  burn,  and  cauldron  bubble. 

Sec.  Witch.  Fillet  of  a fenny  snake, 

In  the  cauldron  boil  and  bake ; 

Eye  of  newt  and  toe  of  frog, 

Wool  of  bat  and  tongue  of  dog,  15 

Adder’s  fork  and  blind-worm’s  sting, 

Lizard’s  leg  and  owlet’s  wing, 

For  a charm  of  powerful  trouble, 

Like  a hell-broth  boil  and  bubble. 

S3 


Macbeth. 


Act  IV,  Scene  1. 


/(r 


i 


All.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble  ; 

Fire  burn  and  cauldron  bubble. 

Third  Witch . Scale  of  dragon,  tooth  of  wolf, 
Witches’  mummy,  maw  and  gulf 
Of  the  ravined  salt-sea  shark, 

Root  of  hemlock  digged  i’  the  dark, 

Liver  of  blaspheming  Jew, 

Gall  of  goat,  and  slips  of  yew 
Slivered  in  the  moon’s  eclipse, 

Nose  of  Turk  and  Tartar’s  lips, 

Finger  of  birth-strangled  babe 
Ditch-delivered  by  a drab, 

Make  the  gruel  thick  and  slab : 

Add  thereto  a tiger’s  chaudron, 

For  the  ingredients  of  our  cauldron. 

All . Double,  double  toil  and  trouble ; 

Fire  burn  and  cauldron  bubble. 

Sec . Witch . Cool  it  with  a baboon’s  blood, 
Then  the  charm  is  firm  and  good. 


25 


.? 


Enter  Hecate  to  the  other  three  Witches . 

Hec.  Oh,  well  done  ! I commend  your  pains ; 

And  every  one  shall  share  i’  the  gains : 40 

And  now  about  the  cauldron  sing, 

Like  elves  and  fairies  in  a ring, 

Enchanting  all  that  you  put  in. 

[Music  and  a song:  ‘ Black  spirits,’  &c. 

[Hecate  retires. 

Sec.  Witch.  By  the  pricking  of  my  thumbs, 

Something  wicked  this  way  comes.  45 

54 


LIBRARY 
Of  [HE 

umvERsny  of  Illinois 


How  now , you  secret , black , and  midnight  hags  ! 

What  is  't you  do? 

— Act  IV.  Scene  i. 


Act  iv,  Scene  l.  Macbeth, 


Open,  locks, 

Whoever  knocks. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Macb.  How  now,  you  secret,  black,  and  midnight 
hags ! 

What  is ’t  you  do  ? 

All.  A deed  without  a name. 

Macb.  I conjure  you,  by  that  which  you  profess,  50 
Howe’er  you  come  to  know  it,  answer  me : 

Though  you  untie  the  winds  and  let  them  fight 
Against  the  churches ; though  the  yesty  waves 
Confound  and  swallow  navigation  up ; 

Though  bladed  corn  be  lodged  and  trees  blown  down ; 55 

Though  castles  topple  on  their  warders’  heads ; 

Though  palaces  and  pyramids  do  slope 

Their  heads  to  their  foundations ; though  the  treasure 

Of  nature’s  germens  tumble  all  together, 

Even  till  destruction  sicken ; answer  me  60 

To  what  I ask  you. 

First  Witch.  Speak. 

Sec.  Witch.  Demand. 

Third  Witch.  We  ’ll  answer. 

First  Witch.  Say,  if  thou  ’dst  rather  hear  it  from  our 
mouths, 

Or  from  our  masters? 

Macb.  Call  ’em ; let  me  see  ’em. 

First  Witch.  Pour  in  sow’s  blood,  that  hath  eaten 
Her  nine  farrow ; grease  that ’s  sweaten  65 

From  the  murderer’s  gibbet  throw 
Into  the  flame. 


55 


Macbeth. 


Act  IV,  Scene  1. 


All.  Come,  high  or  low ; 

Thyself  and  office  deftly  show  ! 

Thunder.  First  Apparition : an  armed  Head . 

Macb.  Tell  me,  thou  unknown  power,  — 

First  Witch.  He  knows  thy  thought : 

Hear  his  speech,  but  say  thou  nought.  70 

First  App.  Macbeth ! Macbeth  ! Macbeth  ! beware 
Macduff ; 

Beware  the  thane  of  Fife.  Dismiss  me.  Enough. 

[Descends. 

Macb.  Whate’er  thou  art,  for  thy  good  caution,  thanks ; 
Thou  hast  harped  my  fear  aright : but^one  word  more,  — 
First  Witch.  He  will  riot  be  commanded : here ’s  an- 
other, 75 

More  potent  than  the  first. 

Thunder.  Second  Apparition  : a bloody  Child. 

Sec.  App.  Macbeth  ! Macbeth  ! Macbeth  ! 

Macb.  Had  I three  ears,  I ’Id  hear  thee. 

Sec.  App.  Be  bloody,  bold,  and  resolute ; laugh  to  scorn 
The  power  of  man,  for  none  of  woman  born  80 

Shall  harm  Macbeth.  [Descends. 

Macb.  Then  live,  Macduff : what  need  I fear  of  thee? 
But  yet  I ’ll  make  assurance  double  sure, 

And  take  a bond  of  fate : thou  shalt  not  live ; 

That  I may  tell  pale-hearted  fear  it  lies,  85 

And  sleep  in  spite  of  thunder. 

Thunder.  Third  Apparition:  a Child  crowned , with  a 
tree  in  his  hand. 

What  is  this 

56 


Act  IV.  Scene  1. 


Macbeth. 


That  rises  like  the  issue  of  a king, 

And  wears  upon  his  baby-brow  the  round 
And  top  of  sovereignty? 

All.  Listen,  but  speak  not  to  ’t. 

Third  App.  Be  lion-mettled,  proud ; and  take  no  care 
Who  chafes,  who  frets,  or  where  conspirers  are : 91 

Macbeth  shall  never  vanquished  be  until 
Great  Birnam  wood  to  high  Dunsinane  hill 
Shall  come  against  him.  [Descends. 

Mach.  That  will  never  be : 

Who  can  impress  the  forest,  bid  the  tree  9 s 

Unfix  his  earth-bound  root?  Sweet  bodements  ! good  ! 

Rebellion’s  head  rise  never  till  the  wood 

Of  Birnam  rise,  and  our  high-placed  Macbeth 

Shall  live  the  lease  of  nature,  pay  his  breath 

To  time  and  mortal  custom.  Yet  my  heart  100 

Throbs  to  know  one  thing : tell  me,  if  your  art 

Can  tell  so  much : shall  Banquo’s  issue  ever 

Reign  in  this  kingdom  ? 

All.  Seek  to  know  no  more. 

Mach.  I will  be  satisfied : deny  me  this, 

And  an  eternal  curse  fall  on  you  ! Let  me  know.  ic 5 

Why  sinks  that  cauldron  ? and  what  noise  is  this  ? 

[Hautboys. 

First  Witch.  Show ! 

Sec.  Witch.  Show ! 

Third  Witch.  Show ! 

All.  Show  his  eyes,  and  grieve  his  heart ; no 

Come  like  shadows,  so  depart ! 


57 


Macbeth. 


Act  IV,  Scene  1. 


A show  of  Eight  Kings,  the  last  with  a glass  in  his 
hand;  Banquo’ s Ghost  following. 

Mach.  Thou  art  too  like  the  spirit  of  Banquo ; down  ! 
Thy  crown  does  sear  mine  eye-balls.  And  thy  hair, 

Thou  other  gold-bound  brow,  is  like  the  first. 

A third  is  like  the  former.  Filthy  hags  ! 115 

Why  do  you  show  me  this  ? A fourth  ! Start,  eyes  ! 
What,  will  the  line  stretch  out  to  the  crack  of  doom  ? 
Another  yet ! A seventh  ! I ’ll  see  no  more  : 

And  yet  the  eighth  appears,  who  bears  a glass 
Which  shows  me  many  more ; and  some  I see 
That  two-fold  balls  and  treble  sceptres  carry : 

Horrible  sight ! Now,  I see,  ’t  is  true ; 

For  the  blood-boltered  Banquo  smiles  upon  me, 

And  points  at  them  for  his.  [Apparitions  vanish.] 
is  this  so  ? 

First  Witch.  Ay,  sir,  all  this  is  so  : but  why 
Stands  Macbeth  thus  amazedly  ? 

Come,  sisters,  cheer  we  up  his  sprites, 

And  show  the  best  of  our  delights : 

I ’ll  charm  the  air  to  give  a sound, 

While  you  perform  your  antic  round ; 

That  this  great  king  may  kindly  say, 

Our  duties  did  his  welcome  pay. 

[Music.  The  Witches  dance , and  then  vanish , with 
Hecate . 

Macb.  Where  are  they?  Gone?  Let  this  pernicious 
hour 

Stand  aye  accursed  in  the  calendar ! 

Come  in,  without  there  ! 


120 


What, 

125 


130 


Act  IV,  Scene  2. 


Macbeth. 


Enter  Lennox. 

Len.  What  ’s  your  grace’s  will?  135 

Macb.  Saw  you  the  weird  sisters? 

Len.  No,  my  lord. 

Macb.  Came  they  not  by  you  ? 

Len.  No,  indeed,  my  lord. 

Macb.  Infected  be  the  air  whereon  they  ride ; 

And  damned  all  those  thatftrust  them ! I did  hear 
The  galloping  of  horse  : who  was ’t  came  by?  mo 

Len.  ’T  is  two  or  three,  my  lord,  that  bring  you  word 
Macduff  is  fled  to  England. 

Macb.  Fled  to  England  ! 

Len.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Macb.  Time,  thou  antidpat’st  my  dread  exploits : 
The  flighty  purpose  never  is  o’ertook  145 

Unless  the  deed  go  with  it : from  this  moment 
The  very  firstlings  of  my  heart  shall  be 
The  firstlings  of  my  hand.  And  even  now, 

To  crown  my  thoughts  with  acts,  be  it  thought  and  done : 
The  castle  of  Macduff  I will  surprise ; 150 

Seize  upon  Fife ; give  to  the  edge  o’  the  sword 
His  wife,  his  babes,  and  all  unfortunate  souls 
That  trace  him  in  his  line.  No  boasting  like  a fool ; 

This  deed  I’ll  do  before  this  purpose  cool. 

But  no  more  sights  ! — Where  are  these  gentlemen?  155 
Come,  bring  me  where  they  are.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II.  Fife . Macduff’s  castle. 

Enter  Lady  Macduff,  her  Son,  and  Ross. 

L.  Macd . What  had  he  done,  to  make  him  fly  the  land  ? 

59  \ 


Macbeth. 


Act  IV,  Scene  Z 


Ross . You  must  have  patience,  madam. 

L . Macd.  He  had  none  : 

His  flight  was  madness  : when  our  actions  do  not, 

Our  fears  do  make  us  traitors. 

Ross.  You  know  not 

Whether  it  was  his  wisdom  or  his  fear.  s 

L.  Macd.  Wisdom ! to  leave  his  wife,  to  leave  his 
babes, 

His  mansion  and  his  titles  in  a place 

From  whence  himself  does  fly?  He  loves  us  not ; 

He  wants  the  natural  touch  : for  the  poor  wren, 

The  most  diminutive  of  birds,  will  fight,  io 

Her  young  ones  in  her  nest,  against  the  owl. 

All  is  the  fear  and  nothing  is  the  love ; 

As  little  is  the  wisdom,  where  the  flight 
So  runs  against  all  reason. 

Ross.  My  dearest  coz, 

I pray  you,  school  yourself  : but  for  your  husband,  is 

He  is  noble,  wise,  judicious,  and  best  knows 

The  fits  o'  the  season.  I dare  not  speak  much  further ; 

But  cruel  are  the  times,  when  we  are  traitors 

And  do  not  know  ourselves,  when  we  hold  rumor 

From  what  we  fear,  yet  know  not  what  we  fear,  20 

But  float  upon  a wild  and  violent  sea 

Each  way  and  move.  I take  my  leave  of  you  : 

Shall  not  be  long  but  I ’ll  be  here  again : 

Things  at  the  worst  will  cease,  or  else  climb  upward 
To  what  they  were  before.  My  pretty  cousin,  25 

Blessing  upon  you ! 

L.  Macd.  Fathered  he  is,  and  yet  he ’s  fatherless. 
Ross.  I am  so  much  a fool,  should  I stay  longer, 

60 

$ 


Act  IV.  Scene  2. 


Macbeth. 


It  would  be  my  disgrace  and  your  discomfort : 

I take  my  leave  at  once.  [Exit. 

L.  Macd.  Sirrah,  your  father ’s  dead  : 30 

And  what  will  you  do  now  ? How  will  you  live  ? 

Son.  As  birds  do,  mother. 

L.  Macd . What,  with  worms  and  flies  ? 

Son.  With  what  I get,  I mean;  and  so  do  they. 

L.  Macd.  Poor  bird  ! thou  ’ldst  never  fear  the  net  nor 
lime, 

The  pitfall  nor  the  gin.  35 

Son.  Why  should  I,  mother?  Poor  birds  they  are  not 
set  for. 

My  father  is  not  dead,  for  all  your  saying. 

L.  Macd.  Yes,  he  is  dead  : how  wilt  thou  do  for  a father  ? 
Son.  Nay,  how  will  you  do  for  a husband  ? 

L.  Macd.  Why,  I can  buy  me  twenty  at  any  market.  40 
Son.  Then  you  ’ll  buy  ’em  to  sell  again. 

L.  Macd.  Thou  speak’st  with  all  thy  wit ; and  yet,  i’ 
faith, 

With  wit  enough  for  thee. 

Son . Was  my  father  a traitor,  mother? 

L.  Macd.  Ay,  that  he  was.  45 

Son.  What  is  a traitor  ? 

L.  Macd.  Why,  one  that  swears  and  lies. 

Son.  And  be  all  traitors  that  do  so? 

L.  Macd.  Every  one  that  does  so  is  a traitor,  and  must 
be  hanged.  so 

Son.  And  must  they  all  be  hanged  that  swear  and  lie? 
L.  Macd.  Every  one. 

Son . Who  must  hang  them  ? 

L.  Macd.  Why,  the  honest  men. 

6l 


Macbeth. 


Act  IV,  Scene  2. 


Son.  Then  the  liars  and  swearers  are  fools,  for  there 
are  liars  and  swearers  enow  to  beat  the  honest  men  and 
hang  up  them.  57 

L.  Macd.  Now,  God  help  thee,  poor  monkey!  But 
how  wilt  thou  do  for  a father  ? 

Son.  If  he  were  dead,  you  ’Id  weep  for  him : if  you 
would  not,  it  were  a good  sign  that  I should  quickly  have 
a new  father.  62 

L.  Macd.  Poor  prattler,  how  thou  talk’st ! 

Enter  a Messenger. 

Mess.  Bless  you,  fair  dame  ! I am  not  to  you  known, 
Though  in  your  state  of  honor  I am  perfect.  6s 

I doubt  some  danger  does  approach  you  nearly : 

If  you  will  take  a homely  man’s  advice, 

Be  not  found  here ; hence,  with  your  little  ones. 

To  fright  you  thus,  methinks,  I am  too  savage ; 

To  do  worse  to  you  were  fell  cruelty,  70 

Which  is  too  nigh  your  person.  Heaven  preserve  you ! 

I dare  abide  no  longer.  [Exit. 

L.  Macd.  Whither  should  I fly  ? 

I have  done  no  harm.  But  I remember  now 
I am  in  this  earthly  world ; where  to  do  harm 
Is  often  laudable,  to  do  good  sometime  75 

Accounted  dangerous  folly : why  then,  alas, 

Do  I p^t  up  that  womanly  defence, 

To  say  I have  done  no  harm? 

Enter  Murderers. 

What  are  these  faces  ? 
First  Mur.  Where  is  your  husband  ? 

62 


Act  IV,  Scene  3. 


Macbeth. 


L.  Macd.  I hope,  in  no  place  so  unsanctified  80 

Where  such  as  thou  may’st  find  him. 

First  Mur.  He ’s  a traitor. 

Son.  Thou  liest,  thou  shag-haired  villain  ! 

First  Mur.  What,  you  egg! 

[Stabbing  him. 

Young  fry  of  treachery  ! 

Son.  He  has  killed  me,  mother : 

Run  away,  I pray  you!  [Dies. 

[Exit  Lady  Macduff,  crying  ‘ Murder ! ’ 
Exeunt  Murderers , following  her. 

Scene  III.  England.  Before  the  King’s  palace . 

Enter  Malcolm  and  Macduff. 

Mal.^ Let  us  seek  out  some  desolate  shade,  and  there 
Weep  our  sad  bosoms  empty. 

Macd.  Let  us  rather 

Hold  fast  the  mortal  sword,  and  like  good  men 
Bestride  our  down-fallen  birthdom  : each  new  morn 
New  widows  howl,  new  orphans  cry,  new  sorrows  s 

Strike  heaven  on  the  face,  that  it  resounds 
As  if  it  felt  with  Scotland  and  yelled  out 
Like  syllable  of  dolor. 

Mai.  What  I believe  I ’ll  wail, 

What  know  believe,  and  what  I can  redress, 

As  I shall  find  the  time  to  friend,  I will.  io 

What  you  have  spoke,  it  may  be  so  perchance. 

This  tyrant,  whose  sole  name  blisters  our  tongues, 

Was  once  thought  honest : you  have  loved  him  well : 

63 


Macbeth. 


Act  IV,  Scene  3. 


He  hath  not  touched  you  yet.  I am  young : but  some- 
thing 

You  may  deserve  of  him  through  me,  and  wisdom  is 
To  offer  up  a weak  poor  innocent  lamb 
To  appease  an  angry  god. 

Macd.  I am  not  treacherous. 

Mai.  But  Macbeth  is. 

A good  and  virtuous  nature  may  recoil 
In  an  imperial  charge.  B ut  I shall  crave  your  pardon ; 20 

That  which  you  are  my  thoughts  cannot  transpose : 
Angels  are  bright  still,  though  the  brightest  fell : 

Though  all  things  foul  would  wear  the  brows  of  grace 
Yet  grace  must  still  look  so. 

Macd.  I have  lost  my  hopes. 

Mol.  Perchance  even  there  where  I did  find  my  doubts.  25 
Why  in  that  rawness  left  you  wife  and  child, 

Those  precious  motives,  those  strong  knots  of  love, 
Without  leave-taking?  I pray  you, 

Let  not  my  jealousies  be  your  dishonors, 

But  mine  own  safeties.  You  may  be  rightly  just,  30 
Whatever  I shall  think. 

Macd.  Bleed,  bleed,  poor  country ! 

Great  tyranny ! lay  thou  thy  basis  sure, 

For  goodness  dare  not  check  thee : wear  thou  thy  wrongs : 
The  title  is  affeered  ! Fare  thee  well,  lord : 

I would  not  be  the  villain  that  thou  think’st  35 

For  the  whole  space  that ’s  in  the  tyrant’s  grasp, 

And  the  rich  East  to  boot. 

Mai.  Be  not  offended : 

I speak  not  as  in  absolute  fear  of  you. 

I think  our  country  sinks  beneath  the  yoke ; 

64 


Act  IV,  Scene  3. 


Macbeth. 


It  weeps,  it  bleeds;  and  each  new  day  a gash  4° 

Is  added  to  her  wounds : I think  withal 
There  would  be  hands  uplifted  in  my  right ; 

And  here  from  gracious  England  have  I offer 
Of  goodly  thousands  : but,  for  all  this, 

When  I shall  tread  upon  the  tyrant’s  head,  45 

Or  wear  it  on  my  sword,  yet  my  poor  country 
Shall  have  more  vices  than  it  had  before, 

More  suffer  and  more  sundry  ways  than  ever, 

By  him  that  shall  succeed. 

Macd.  What  should  he  be? 

Mai.  It  is  myself  I mean  : in  whom  I know  50 

All  the  particulars  of  vice  so  grafted 
That,  when  they  shall  be  opened,  black  Macbeth 
Will  seem  as  pure  as  snow,  and  the  poor  state 
Esteem  him  as  a lamb,  being  compared 
With  my  confineless  harms. 

Macd.  Not  in  the  legions  55 

Of  horrid  hell  can  come  a devil  more  damned 
In  evils  to  top  Macbeth. 

Mai.  I grant  him  bloody, 

Luxurious,  avaricious,  false,  deceitful, 

Sudden,  malicious,  smacking  of  every  sin 

That  has  a name : but  there  ’s  no  bottom,  none,  60 

In  my  voluptuousness : and  my  desire 

All  continent  impediments  would  o’erbear 

That  did  oppose  my  will : better  Macbeth 

Than  such  an  one  to  reign. 

Macd.  Boundless  intemperance 

In  nature  is  a tyranny ; it  hath  been  $$ 

The  untimely  emptying  of  the  happy  throne, 

65 


Macbeth. 


Act  IV,  Scene  3. 


And  fall  of  many  kings.  But  fear  not  yet 
To  take  upon  you  what  is  yours : you  may 
Convey  your  pleasures  in  a spacious  plenty, 

And  yet  seem  cold,  the  time  you  may  so  hoodwink. 

Mai.  With  this  there  grows : 70 

In  my  most  ill-composed  affection  such 
A stanchless  avarice  that,  were  I king, 

I should  cut  off  the  nobles  for  their  lands, 

Desire  his  jewels  and  this  other’s  house : 

And  my  more-having  would  be  as  a sauce  75 

To  make  me  hunger  more ; that  I should  forge 
Quarrels  unjust  against  the  good  and  loyal, 

Destroying  them  for  wealth. 

Macd.  This  avarice 

Sticks  deeper,  grows  with  more  pernicious  root 
Than  summer-seeming  lust,  and  it  hath  been  80 

The  sword  of  our  slain  kings : yet  do  not  fear ; 

Scotland  hath  foisons  to  fill  up  your  will, 

Of  your  mere  own : all  these  are  portable, 

With  other  graces  weighed. 

Mai.  But  I have  none : the  king-becoming  graces,  8s 
As  justice,  verity,  temperance,  stableness, 

Bounty,  perseverance,  mercy,  lowliness, 

Devotion,  patience,  courage,  fortitude, 

I have  no  relish  of  them,  but  abound 
In  the  division  of  each  several  crime,  90 

Acting  it  many  ways.  Nay,  had  I power,  I should 
Pour  the  sweet  milk  of  concord  into  hell, 

Uproar  the  universal  peace,  confound 
All  unity  on  earth. 

Macd , O Scotland,  Scotland ! 

66 


Act  IV,  Scene  3. 


Macbeth. 


Mai.  If  such  a one  be  fit  to  govern,  speak : 95 

I am  as  I have  spoken. 

Macd.  Fit  to  govern ! 

No,  not  to  live.  O nation  miserable, 

With  an  untitled  tyrant  bloody-sceptered, 

When  shalt  thou  see  thy  wholesome  days  again, 

Since  that  the  truest  issue  of  thy  throne  100 

By  his  own  interdiction  stands  accursed, 

And  does  blaspheme  his  breed  ? Thy  royal  father 
Was  a most  sainted  king  : the  queen  that  bore  thee, 
Oftener  upon  her  knees  than  on  her  feet, 

Died  every  day  she  lived.  Fare  thee  well ! 105 

These  evils  thou  repeat’st  upon  thyself 

Have  banished  me  from  Scotland.  O my  breast, 

Thy  hope  ends  here  ! 

Mai.  Macduff,  this  noble  passion, 

Child  of  integrity,  hath  from  my  soul 

Wiped  the  black  scruples,  reconciled  my  thoughts  no 

To  thy  good  truth  and  honor.  Devilish  Macbeth 

By  many  of  these  trains  hath  sought  to  win  me 

Into  his  power,  and  modest  wisdom  plucks  me 

From  over-credulous  haste : but  God  above 

Deal  between  thee  and  me  ! for  even  now  ns 

I put  myself  to  thy  direction,  and 

Unspeak  mine  own  detraction,  here  abjure 

The  taints  and  blames  I laid  upon  myself, 

For  strangers  to  my  nature.  I am  yet 

Unknown  to  woman,  never  was  forsworn,  12c 

Scarcely  have  coveted  what  was  mine  own, 

At  no  time  broke  my  faith,  would  not  betray 
The  devil  to  his  fellow,  and  delight 

67 


Macbeth. 


Act  IV,  Scene  3. 


No  less  in  truth  than  life : my  first  false  speaking 

Was  this  upon  myself : what  I am  truly,  1 

Is  thine  and  my  poor  country’s  to  command : 

Whither  indeed,  before  thy  here-approach, 

Old  Siward,  with  ten  thousand  warlike  men, 

Already  at  a point,  was  setting  forth. 

Now  we  ’ll  together ; and  the  chance  of  goodness 
Be  like  our  warranted  quarrel ! Why  are  you  silent  ? 

Macd.  Such  welcome  and  unwelcome  things  at  once 
’T  is  hard  to  reconcile. 


Enter  a Doctor. 

Mai.  Well;  more  anon.  — Comes  the  king  forth,  I 
pray  you  ? 

Doct.  Ay,  sir ; there  are  a crew  of  wretched  souls  us 
That  stay  his  cure : their  malady  convinces 
The  great  assay  of  art ; but  at  his  touch 
Such  sanctity  hath  heaven  given  his  hand  — 

They  presently  amend. 

Mai.  I thank  you,  doctor.  [Exit  Doctor. 

Macd.  What ’s  the  disease  he  means  ? 

Mai.  ’T  is  called  The  Evil : 

A most  miraculous  work  in  this  good  king ; 141 

Which  often,  since  my  here-remain  in  England, 

I have  seen  him  do.  How  he  solicits  heaven, 

Himself  best  knows : but  strangely-visited  people, 

All  swoln  and  ulcerous,  pitiful  to  the  eye, 

The  mere  despair  of  surgery,  he  cures, 

Hanging  a golden  stamp  about  their  necks, 

Put  on  with  holy  prayers : and ’t  is  spoken, 

To  the  succeeding  royalty  he  leaves 

68 


145 


Act  IV,  Scene  3. 


Macbeth. 


The  healing  benediction.  With  this  strange  virtue,  150 
He  hath  a heavenly  gift  of  prophecy, 

And  sundry  blessings  hang  about  his  throne, 

That  speak  him  full  of  grace. 

Enter  Ross. 

Macd.  See,  who  comes  here? 

Mai.  My  countryman ; but  yet  I know  him  not. 

Macd . My  ever-gentle  cousin,  welcome  hither.  155 

Mai.  I know  him  now.  Good  God,  betimes  remove 
The  means  that  makes  us  strangers ! 

Ross.  Sir,  amen. 

Macd . Stands  Scotland  where  it  did? 

Ross.  Alas,  poor  country ! 

Almost  afraid  to  know  itself.  It  cannot 
Be  called  our  mother,  but  our  grave ; where  nothing,  160 
But  who  knows  nothing,  is  once  seen  to  smile ; 

Where  sighs  and  groans  and  shrieks  that  rend  the  air 
Are  made,  not  marked ; where  violent  sorrow  seems 
A modern  ecstasy : the  dead  man’s  knell 
Is  there  scarce  asked  for  who ; and  good  men’s  lives  165 
Expire  before  the  flowers  in  their  caps, 

Dying  or  ere  they  sicken. 

Macd.  O,  relation 

Too  nice,  and  yet  too  true ! 

Mai.  What ’s  the  newest  grief  ? 

Ross.  That  of  an  hour’s  age  doth  hiss  the  speaker ; 

? Each  minute  teems  a new  one. 

/Macd.  How  does  my  wife ? 170 

Ross.  Why,  well. 

Macd . And  all  my  children? 

69 


Macbeth. 


Act  IV,  Scene  3. 


Ross . Well,  too. 

Macd.  The  tyrant  has  not  battered  at  their  peace  ? 

Ross.  No ; they  were  well  at  peace  when  I did  leave 
’em. 

Macd.  Be  not  a niggard  of  your  speech  : how  goes  ’t  ? 

Ross.  When  I came  hither  to  transport  the  tidings,  17s 
Which  I have  heavily  borne,  there  ran  a rumor 
Of  many  worthy  fellows  that  were  out ; 

Which  was  to  my  belief  witnessed  the  rather, 

For  that  I saw  the  tyrant’s  power  a-foot : 

Now  is  the  time  of  help ; your  eye  in  Scotland  180 

Would  create  soldiers,  make  our  women  fight, 

To  doff  their  dire  distresses. 

Mai.  Be ’t  their  comfort 

We  are  coming  thither : gracious  England  hath 
Lent  us  good  Siward  and  ten  thousand  men ; 

An  older  and  a better  soldier  none  185 

That  Christendom  gives  out. 

Ross.  Would  I could  answer 

This  comfort  with  the  like  ! But  I have  words 
That  would  be  howled  out  in  the  desert  air, 

Where  hearing  should  not  latch  them. 

Macd.  What  concern  they? 

The  general  cause  ? or  is  it  a fee-grief  190 

Due  to  some  single  breast? 

Ross.  No  mind  that ’s  honest 

But  in  it  shares  some  woe ; though  the  main  part 
Pertains  to  you  alone. 

Macd.  If  it  be  mine, 

Keep  it  not  from  me,  quickly  let  me  have  it. 

Ross.  Let  not  your  ears  despise  my  tongue  for  ever, 

70 


Act  IV,  Scene  3. 


Macbeth. 


Which  shall  possess  them  with  the  heaviest  sound  196 
That  ever  yet  they  heard. 

Macd.  Hum  ! I guess  at  it. 

Ross.  Your  castle  is  surprised ; your  wife  and  babes 
Savagely  slaughtered : to  relate  the  manner, 

Were,  on  the  quarry  of  these  murdered  deer,  200 

To  add  the  death  of  you. 

Mai.  Merciful  heaven ! 

What,  man  ! ne’er  pull  your  hat  upon  your  brows ; 

Give  sorrow  words : the  grief  that  does  not  speak 
Whispers  the  o’er-fraught  heart  and  bids  it  break. 

Macd.  My  children  too? 

Ross.  Wife,  children,  servants,  all 

That  could  be  found. 

Macd.  And  I must  be  from  thence ! 206 

My  wife  killed  too? 

Ross.  I have  said. 

Mai.  Be  comforted : 

Let ’s  make  us  medicines  of  our  great  revenge, 

To  cure  this  deadly  grief. 

Macd.  He  has  no  children.  All  my  pretty  ones?  210 
Did  you  say  all  ? O hell-kite  ! All  ? 

What,  all  my  pretty  chickens  and  their  dam 
At  one  fell  swoop  ? 

Mai.  Dispute  it  like  a man. 

Macd.  I shall  do  so  ; 

But  I must  also  feel  it  as  a man. 

I cannot  but  remember  such  things  were,  21  5 

That  were  most  precious  to  me.  Did  heaven  look  on? 

And  would  not  take  their  part  ? Sinful  Macduff, 

They  were  all  struck  for  thee ! naught  that  I am, 

7 1 


Macbeth. 


Act  V,  Scene  1 


Not  for  their  own  demerits,  but  for  mine, 

Fell  slaughter  on  their  souls.  Heaven  rest  them  now!  220 
Mai.  Be  this  the  whetstone  of  your  sword : let  grief 
Convert  to  anger ; blunt  not  the  heart,  enrage  it. 

Macd.  O,  I could  play  the  woman  with  mine  eyes 
And  braggart  with  my  tongue  ! But,  gentle  heavens, 

Cut  short  all  intermission ; front  to  front  225 

Bring  thou  this  fiend  of  Scotland  and  myself ; 

Within  my  sword’s  length  set  him ; if  he  ’scape, 

Heaven  forgive  him  too  ! 

Mai . This  tune  goes  manly. 

Come,  go  we  to  the  king ; our  power  is  ready ; 

Our  lack  is  nothing  but  our  leave : Macbeth- s 23o 

Is  ripe  for  shaking,  and  the  powers  above 
Put  on  their  instruments.  Receive  what  cheer  you  may : 
The  night  is  long  that  never  finds  the  day. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I.  Dunsinane.  Ante-room  in  the  castle. 


Enter  a Doctor  of  Physic  and  a 
Waiting-Gentlewoman. 

Doct.  I have  two  nights  watched  with  you,  but  can 
perceive  no  truth  in  your  report.  When  was  it  she  last 
walked  ? 

Gent.  Since  his  majesty  went  into  the  field,  I have  seen 
her  rise  from  her  bed,  throw  her  nightgown  upon  her, 
unlock  her  closet,  take  forth  paper,  fold  it,  write  upon  ’t, 
read  it,  afterwards  seal  it,  and  again  return  to  bed ; yet  all 
this  while  in  a most  fast  sleep.  8 

72 


Act  V,  Scene  1. 


Macbeth, 


Doct.  A great  perturbation  in  nature,  to  receive  at 
once  the  benefit  of  sleep,  and  do  the  effects  of  watching ! 
In  this  slumbery  agitation,  besides  her  walking  and  other 
actual  performances,  what,  at  any  time,  have  you  heard 
her  say  ? 

Gent.  That,  sir,  which  I will  not  report  after  her.  14 

Doct.  You  may  to  me:  and  ’t  is  most  meet  you 
should. 

Gent.  Neither  to  you  nor  any  one;  having  no  wit- 
ness to  confirm  my  speech. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  with  a taper . 

Lo  you,  here  she  comes ! This  is  her  very  guise ; and, 
upon  my  life,  fast  asleep.  Observe  her;  stand  close. 

Doct.  How  came  she  by  that  light  ? 21 

Gent.  Why,  it  stood  by  her : she  has  light  by  her  contin- 
ually ; ’t  is  her  command. 

Doct.  You  see,  her  eyes  are  open. 

Gent.  Ay,  but  their  sense  is  shut. 

Doct.  What  is  it  she  does  now?  Look,  how  she  rubs 
her  hands.  27 

Gent.  It  is  an  accustomed  action  with  her,  to  seem 
thus  washing  her  hands:  I have  known  her  continue  in 
this  a quarter  of  an  hour.  30 

Lady  M.  Yet  here ’s  a spot. 

Doct.  Hark  ! she  speaks : I will  set  down  what  comes 
from  her,  to  satisfy  my  remembrance  the  more  strongly. 

Lady  M.  Out,  damned  spot ! out,  Isay! — One:  two: 
why,  then,  ’t  is  time  to  do  ’ t . — Hell  is  murky ! — Fie,  my 
lord,  fie ! a soldier,  and  afeard  ? What  need  we  fear  who 
knows  it,  when  none  can  call  our  power  to  account?  — 

73 


Macbeth, 


Act  V,  Scene  1. 


Yet  who  would  have  thought  the  old  man  to  have  had  so 
much  blood  in  him.  39 

Doct.  Do  you  mark  that? 

Lady  M . The  thane  of  Fife  had  a wife : where  is 
she  now?  — What,  will  these  hands  ne’er  be  clean?  — No 
more  o’  that,  my  lord,  no  more  o’  that : you  mar  all  with 
this  starting. 

Doct.  Go  to,  go  to ; you  have  known  what  you  should 
not.  46 

Gent . She  has  spoke  what  she  should  not,  I am  sure 
of  that : heaven  knows  what  she  has  known. 

Lady  M.  Here ’s  the  smell  of  the  blood  still : all  the 
perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little  hand. 
Oh,  oh,  oh  ! si 

Doct.  What  a sigh  is  there ! The  heart  is  sorely 
charged. 

Gent.  I would  not  have  such  a heart  in  my  bosom  for 
the  dignity  of  the  whole  body.  55 

Doct.  Well,  well,  well,  — • 

Gent.  Pray  God  it  be,  sir. 

Doct.  This  disease  is  beyond  my  practice  : yet  I have 
known  those  which  have  walked  in  their  sleep  who  have 
died  holily  in  their  beds.  60 

Lady  M.  Wash  your  hands,  put  on  your  nightgown; 
look  not  so  pale.  — I tell  you  yet  again,  Banquo ’s  buried  ; 
he  cannot  come  out  on ’s  grave. 

Doct.  Even  so  ? 64 

Lady  M.  To  bed,  to  bed ! there  ’s  knocking  at  the 
gate : come,  come,  come,  come,  give  me  your  hand. 
What ’s  done  cannot  be  undone.  — To  bed,  to  bed,  to  bed  ! 

[Exit. 


74 


All  the  perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little  hand. 

— Act  V.  Scene  i . 


LIBRARY 
Of  THf  , c 
UNWERSW  Of  >LllNOlS 


Act  V,  Scene  2. 


Macbeth. 


Doct.  Will  she  go  now  to  bed  ? 

Gent . Directly. 

Doct.  Foul  whisperings  are  abroad : unnatural  deeds 
Do  breed  unnatural  troubles  : infected  minds  71 

To  their  deaf  pillows  will  discharge  their  secrets : 

More  needs  she  the  divine  than  the  physician. 

God,  God  forgive  us  all ! Look  after  her ; 

Remove  from  her  the  means  of  all  annoyance,  75 

And  still  keep  eyes  upon  her.  So,  good  night : 

My  mind  she  has  mated,  and  amazed  my  sight. 

I think,  but  dare  not  speak. 

Gent.  Good  night,  good  doctor. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II.  The  country  near  Dunsinane. 

Drum  and  colors.  Enter  Menteith,  Caithness, 
Angus,  Lennox,  and  Soldiers. 

Ment.  The  English  power  is  near,  led  on  by  Malcolm, 
His  uncle  Siward  and  the  good  Macduff : 

Revenges  burn  in  them  ; for  their  dear  causes 
Would  to  the  bleeding  and  the  grim  alarm  p rfP 
Excite  the  mortified  man.  ^ / 

Ang.  Near  Birnam  wood  A 

Shall  we  well  meet  them  ; that  way  are  they  coming. 

Caith.  Who  knows  if  Donalbain  be  with  his  brother? 

Len.  For  certain,  sir,  he  is  not : I have  a file 
Of  all  the  gentry  : there  is  Siward’s  son, 

And  many  unrough  youths  that  even  now  10 

Protest  their  first  of  manhood. 

Ment.  What  does  the  tyrant? 


75 


Macbeth. 


Act  V,  Scene  3. 


Caith . Great  Dunsinane  he  strongly  fortifies  : 

Some  say  he  ’s  mad ; others  that  lesser  hate  him 
Do  call  it  valiant  fury  : but,  for  certain, 

He  cannot  buckle  his  distempered  cause  i * 

Within  the  belt  of  rule. 

Ang.  Now  does  he  feel 

His  secret  murders  sticking  on  his  hands ; 

Now  minutely  revolts  upbraid  his  faith-breach ; 

Those  he  commands  move  only  in  command, 

Nothing  in  love  : now  does  he  feel  his  title  20 

Hang  loose  about  him,  like  a giant’s  robe 
Upon  a dwarfish  thief. 

Ment.  Who  then  shall  blame 

His  pestered  senses  to  recoil  and  start, 

When  all  that  is  within  him  does  condemn 
Itself  for  being  there  ? 

Caith.  Well,  march  we  on,  25 

To  give  obedience  where  ’t  is  truly  owed : 

Meet  we  the  medicine  of  the  sickly  weal, 

And  with  him  pour  we  in  our  country’s  purge 
Each  drop  of  us. 

Len . Or  so  much  as  it  needs, 

To  dew  the  sovereign  flower  and  drown  the  weeds.  30 
Make  we  our  march  towards  Birnam. 

[Exeunt,  marching. 

Scene  III.  tiunsinane.  A room  in  the  castle. 

Enter  Macbeth,  Doctor,  and  Attendants. 

Mach.  Bring  me  no  more  reports ; let  them  fly  all : 

Till  Birnam  wood  remove  to  Dunsinane, 

76 


Act  V,  Scene  3. 


Macbeth. 


I cannot  taint  with  fear.  What  the  boy  Malcolm? 
Was  he  not  born  of  woman?  The  spirits  that  know 
All  mortal  consequences  have  pronounced  me  thus : 5 

‘ Fear  not,  Macbeth  ; no  man  that  ’s  born  of  woman 
Shall  e’er  have  power  upon  thee.’  Then  fly,  false  thanes, 
And  mingle  with  the  English  epicures ; 

The  mind  I sway  by  and  the  heart  I bear 

Shall  never  sag  with  doubt  nor  shake  with  fear.  10 

Enter  a Servant. 

The  devil  damn  thee  black,  thou  cream-faced  loon ! 

Where  got’st  thou  that  goose  look  ? 

Serv.  There  is  ten  thousand  — 

Macb.  Geese,  villain? 

Serv.  Soldiers,  sir. 

Macb.  Go  prick  thy  face,  and  over-red  thy  fear, 

Thou  lily-livered  boy.  What  soldiers,  patch?  is 

Death  of  thy  soul ! those  linen  cheeks  of  thine 
Are  counsellors  to  fear.  What  soldiers,  whey-face  ? 

Serv.  The  English  force,  so  please  you. 

Macb.  Take  thy  face  hence.  [Exit  Servant. 

Seyton  ! — I am  sick  at  heart, 
When  I behold  — Seyton,  I say  ! — This  push  20 

Will  cheer  me  ever,  or  disseat  me  now. 

I have  lived  long  enough  : my  way  of  life 
Is  fallen  into  the  sear,  the  yellow  leaf ; 

And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age, 

As  honor,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 

I must  not  look  to  have ; but,  in  their  stead, 

Curses,  not  loud  but  deep,  mouth-honor,  breath, 

77 


Macbeth. 


Act  V,  Scene  3. 


Which  the  poor  heart  would  fain  deny,  and  dare  not. 

Seyton ! 

Enter  Seyton. 

Sey.  What  is  your  gracious  pleasure  ? 

Macb.  What  news  more? 

Sey.  All  is  confirmed,  my  lord,  which  was  reported.  31 
Macb.  I’ll  fight  till  from  my  bones  my  flesh  be 
hacked. 

Give  me  my  armor. 

Sey.  ’T  is  not  needed  yet. 

Macb.  I ’ll  put  it  on. 

Send  out  moe  horses ; skirr  the  country  round ; 35 

Hang  those  that  talk  of  fear.  Give  me  mine  armor. 
How  does  your  patient,  doctor  ? 

Doct.  Not  so  sick,  my  lord, 

As  she  is  troubled  with  thick-coming  fancies, 

That  keep  her  from  her  rest. 

Macb.  Cure  her  of  that. 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a mind  diseased,  40 

Pluck  from  the  memory  a rooted  sorrow, 

Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain 
And  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote 
Cleanse  the  stuffed  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart  ? 

Doct.  Therein  the  patient  45 

Must  minister  to  himself. 

Macb.  Throw  physic  to  the  dogs ; I ’ll  none  of  it. 
Come,  put  mine  armor  on ; give  me  my  staff. 

Seyton,  send  out.  Doctor,  the  thanes  fly  from  me. 

Come,  sir,  dispatch.  If  thou  couldst,  doctor,  cast  50 

78 


Act  V,  Scene  4. 


Macbeth. 


The  water  of  my  land,  find  her  disease, 

And  purge  it  to  a sound  and  pristine  health, 

I would  apx  Hud  thee  to  the  very  echo, 

That  should  applaud  again.  — Pull ’t  off,  I say.  — 

What  rhubarb,  senna,  or  what  purgative  drug,  55 

Would  scour  these  English  hence?  Hear’st  thou  of 
them? 

Doct.  Ay,  my  good  lord ; your  royal  preparation 
Makes  us  hear  something. 

Mach.  Bring  it  after  me. 

I will  not  be  afraid  of  death  and  bane, 

Till  Birnam  forest  come  to  Dunsinane.  60 

Doct.  [Aside]  Were  I from  Dunsinane  away  and 
clear, 

Profit  again  should  hardly  draw  me  here.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  IV. 


Country  near  Birnam  wood. 


Drum  and  colors.  Enter  Malcolm,  old  Siward  and 
his  Son,  Macduff,  Menteith,  Caithness,  Angus, 
Lennox,  Ross,  and  Soldier,  marching. 

Mai.  Cousins,  I hope  the  days  are  near  at  hand 
That  chambers  will  be  safe. 

Ment.  We  doubt  it  nothing. 

Siw.  What  wood  is  this  before  us  ? 

Ment.  The  wood  of  Birnam. 

Mai.  Let  every  soldier  hew  him  down  a bough 
And  bear ’t  before  him  : thereby  shall  we  shadow  5 
The  numbers  of  our  host  and  make  discovery 
Err  in  report  of  us. 

Soldiers . It  shall  be  done. 

79 


Macbeth. 


Act  V,  Scene  5. 


Siw.  We  learn  no  other  but  the  confident  tyrant 
Keeps  still  in  Dunsinane,  and  will  endure 
Our  setting  down  before ’t. 

Mai.  ’T  is  his  main  hope : 10 

For  where  there  is  advantage  to  be  given, 

Both  more  and  less  have  given  him  the  revolt, 

And  none  serve  with  him  but  constrained  things 
Whose  hearts  are  absent  too. 

Macd.  Let  our  just  censures 

Attend  the  true  event,  and  put  we  on  15 

Industrious  soldiership. 

Siw.  The  time  approaches 

That  will  with  due  decision  make  us  know 
What  we  shall  say  we  have  and  what  we  owe. 

Thoughts  speculative  their  unsure  hopes  relate, 

But  certain  issue  strokes  must  arbitrate  : 20 

Towards  which  advance  the  war.  [Exeunt,  marching. 

Scene  V.  Dunsinane.  Within  the  castle. 

Enter  Macbeth,  Seyton,  and  Soldiers,  with  drum  and 

colors. 

Mach.  Hang  out  our  banners  on  the  outward  walls  ; 

The  cry  is  still  ‘ They  come  ’ : our  castle’s  strength 
Will  laugh  a siege  to  scorn  : here  let  them  lie 
Till  famine  and  the  ague  eat  them  up : 

Were  they  not  forced  with  those  that  should  be  ours,  5 
We  might  have  met  them  dareful,  beard  to  beard, 

And  beat  them  backward  home: 

, [A  cry  of  women  within, 
j What  is  that  noise  ? 


Act  V,  Scene  5. 


Macbeth. 


Sey.  It  is  the  cry  of  women,  my  good  lord.  [Exit. 
Mcicb.  I have  almost  forgot  the  taste  of  fears : 

The  time  has  been,  my  senses  would  have  cooled  io 

To  hear  a night-shriek ; and  my  fell  of  hair 

Would  at  a dismal  treatise  rouse  and  stir 

As  life  were  in  ’t : I have  supped  full  with  horrors ; 

Direness,  familiar  to  my  slaughterous  thoughts, 

Cannot  once  start  me. 


Re-enter  Seyton. 

Wherefore  was  that  cry  ? 
Sey . The  queen,  my  lord,  is  dead. 

Macb . She  should  have  died  hereafter ; 

There  should  have  been  a time  for  such  a word. 
To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 

Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day 
To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time, 

And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 
The  way  to  dusty  death.  Out,  out,  brief  candle  ! 
Life ’s  but  a walking  shadow,  a poor  player 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage 
And  then  is  heard  no  more  : it  is  a tale 
Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 

Signifying  nothing. 

Enter  a Messenger. 

Thou  comest  to  use  thfvfcongue ; thy  story  quickly. 

Mess . Gracious  my  lord, 

I should  report  that  whiclk  I say  I saw, 

But  know  not  how  m do  it\ 

Macb.  / V Well,  say,  sir. 

/ 8 1 


15 


20 


25 


30 


Macbeth. 


Act  V,  Scene  6. 


Mess . As  I did  stand  my  watch  upon  the  hill, 

I looked  toward  Birnam,  and  anon,  methought, 

The  wood  began  to  move. 

Macb.  Liar  and  slave ! 35 

Mess.  Let  me  endure  your  wrath,  if ’t  be  not  so : 
Within  this  three  mile  you  may  see  it  coming ; 

I say,  a moving  grove. 

Macb.  If  thou  speak’st  false, 

Upon  the  next  tree  shalt  thou  hang  alive, 

Till  famine  cling  thee  : if  thy  speech  be  sooth,  40 

I care  not  if  thou  dost  for  me  as  much. 

I pull  in  resolution,  and  begin 

To  doubt  the  equivocation  of  the  fiend 

That  lies  like  truth  : ‘ Fear  not,  till  Birnam  wood 

Do  come  to  Dunsinane : ’ and  now  a wood  45 

Comes  toward  Dunsinane.  Arm,  arm,  and  out ! 

If  this  which  he  avouches  does  appear, 

There  is  nor  flying  hence  nor  tarrying  here. 

I gin  to  be  aweary  of  the  sun, 

And  wish  the  estate  o’  the  world  were  now  undone.  so 
Ring  the  alarum-bell ! Blow,  wind  ! come,  wrack  ! 

At  least  we  ’ll  die  with  harness  on  our  back.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VI.  Dunsinane.  Before  the  castle. 

Drum  and  colors.  Enter  Malcolm,  old  Siward,  Mac- 
duff, and  their  Army,  with  boughs. 

Mai.  Now  near  enough : your  leafy  screens  throw 
down, 

And  show  like  those  you  are.  You,  worthy  uncle, 

Shall,  with  my  cousin,  your  right-noble  son, 

82 


A nd  now  a wood 
Comes  toward  Dunsinane. 


UBRAfly 
Of  IHf 

UNIVEKSirv.  Of  (USNUI5 


Act  V,  Scene  7. 


Macbeth. 


Lead  our  first  battle : worthy  Macduff  and  we 

Shall  take  upon ’s  what  else  remains  to  do,  s . 

According  to  our  order. 

Siw.  Fare  you  well. 

Do  we  but  find  the  tyrant’s  power  to-night, 

Let  us  be  beaten,  if  we  cannot  fight. 

Macd.  Make  all  our  trumpets  speak;  give  them  all 
breath,  9 

Those  clamorous  harbingers  of  blood  and  death.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VII.  Another  part  of  the  field. 

Alarums.  Enter  Macbeth. 

Mach.  They  have  tied  me  to  a stake ; I cannot  fly, 

But,  bear-like,  I must  fight  the  course.  What ’s  he 
That  was  not  born  of  woman  ? Such  a one 
Am  I to  fear,  or  none. 

Enter  young  Siward. 

Yo.  Siw.  What  is  thy  name? 

Mach.  Thou  ’It  be  afraid  to  hear  it.  5 

Yo.  Siw.  No;  though  thou  call’st  thyself  a hotter 
name 

Than  any  is  in  hell. 

Mach.  My  name ’s  Macbeth. 

Yo.  Siw.  The  devil  himself  could  not  pronounce  a 
title 

More  hateful  to  mine  ear. 

Mach.  No,  nor  more  fearful. 

Yo.  Siw.  Thou  liest,  abhorred  tyrant;  with  my 
sword  10 


83 


) 

Macbeth. 


Act  V,  Scene  7. 


I ’ll  prove  the  lie  thou  speak’st. 

[They  fight  and  young  Siward  is  slain. 
Macb.  Thou  wast  born  of  woman. 

But  swords  I smile  at,  weapons  laugh  to  scorn, 
Brandished  by  man  that ’s  of  a woman  born.  [Exit. 

Alarums.  Enter  Macduff. 

Macd.  That  way  the  noise  is.  Tyrant,  show  thy 
face ! 

If  thou  be’st  slain  and  with  no  stroke  of  mine,  is 

My  wife  and  children’s  ghosts  will  haunt  me  still. 

I cannot  strike  at  wretched  kerns,  whose  arms 
Are  hired  to  bear  their  staves : either  thou,  Macbeth, 

Or  else  my  sword  with  an  unbattered  edge 
I sheathe  again  undeeded.  There  thou  shouldst  be ; 20 

By  this  great  clatter,  one  of  greatest  note 
Seems  bruited.  Let  me  find  him,  fortune  ! 

And  more  I beg  not.  [Exit.  Alarums . 

Enter  Malcolm  and  old  Siward. 

Siw.  This  way,  my  lord ; the  castle ’s  gently  ren- 
dered : 

The  tyrant’s  people  on  both  sides  do  fight ; 25 

The  noble  thanes  do  bravely  in  the  war; 

The  day  almost  itself  professes  yours, 

And  little  is  to  do. 

Mai.  We  have  met  with  foes 

That  strike  beside  us. 

Siw . Enter,  sir,  the  castle. 

[Exeunt.  Alarums. 


84 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


> 

o 

< 


Of  all  men  else  I have  avoided  thee : 

But  get  thee  back ; my  soul  is  too  much  charged 
With  blood  of  thine  already. 


Act  V,  Scene  8. 


Macbeth. 


Scene  VIII.  Another  part  of  the  field. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Macb.  Why  should  I play  the  Roman  fool,  and  die 
On  mine  own  sword?  whiles  I see  lives,  the  gashes 
Do  better  upon  them. 

Enter  Macduff. 

Macd . Turn,  hell-hound,  turn  ! 

Macb.  Of  all  men  else  I have  avoided  thee  : 

But  get  thee  back ; my  soul  is  too  much  charged  5 

With  blood  of  thine  already. 

Macd.  I have  no  words  : 

My  voice  is  in  my  sword  : thou  bloodier  villain 

Than  terms  can  give  thee  out ! [They  fight. 

Macb.  Thou  losest  labor : 

As  easy  mayst  thou  the  intrench  ant  air 

With  thy  keen  sword  impress  as  make  me  bleed  : 10 

Let  fall  thy  blade  on  vulnerable  crests ; 

I bear  a charmed  life,  which  must  not  yield 
To  one  of  woman  born. 

Macd.  Despair  thy  charm ; 

And  let  the  angel  whom  thou  still  hast  served 

Tell  thee,  Macduff  was  from  his  mother’s  womb  15 

Untimely  ripped. 

Macb.  Accursed  be  that  tongue  that  tells  me  so, 

For  it  hath  cowed  my  better  part  of  man  ! 

And  be  these  juggling  fiends  no  more  believed, 

That  palter  with  us  in  a double  sense ; 20 

That  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  our  ear, 

And  break  it  to  our  hope.  I ’ll  not  fight  with  thee. 

85 


Macbeth. 


Act  V,  Scene  8. 


Macd.  Then  yield  thee,  coward, 

And  live  to  be  the  show  and  gaze  o’  the  time  : 

We  ’ll  have  thee,  as  our  rarer  monsters  are,  25 

Painted  upon  a pole,  and  underwrit, 

‘ Here  may  you  see  the  tyrant.’ 

Macb.  I will  not  yield, 

To  kiss  the  ground  before  young  Malcolm’s  feet, 

And  to  be  baited  with  the  rabble’s  curse. 

Though  Birnam  wood  be  come  to  Dunsinane,  30 

And  thou  opposed,  being  of  no  woman  born, 

Yet  I will  try  the  last.  Before  my  body 
I throw  my  warlike  shield.  Lay  on,  Macduff, 

And  damned  be  him  that  first  cries  ‘ Hold,  enough !’ 

[Exeunt,  fighting . Alarums. 

Retreat . Flourish.  Enter , with  drum  and  colors,  Mal- 
colm, old  Siward,  Ross,  the  other  Thanes,  and  Soldiers. 

Mai.  I would  the  friends  we  miss  were  safe  arrived.  35 
Siw.  Some  must  go  off : and  yet,  by  these  I see, 

So  great  a day  as  this  is  cheaply  bought. 

Mai.  Macduff  is  missing,  and  your  noble  son. 

Ross.  Your  son,  my  lord,  has  paid  a soldier’s  debt : 

He  only  lived  but  till  he  was  a man ; 40 

The  which  no  sooner  had  his  prowess  confirmed 
In  the  unshrinking  station  where  he  fought, 

But  like  a man  he  died. 

Siw.  Then  he  is  dead? 

Ross.  Ay,  and  brought  off  the  field : your  cause  of 
sorrow 

Must  not  be  measured  by  his  worth,  for  then  45 

It  hath  no  end. 


86 


Act  V,  Scene  8. 


Macbeth. 


Siw.  Had  he  his  hurts  before  ? 

Ross.  Ay,  on  the  front. 

Siw.  Why  then,  God’s  soldier  be  he  ! 

Had  I as  many  sons  as  I have  hairs, 

I would  not  wish  them  to  a fairer  death : 

And  so,  his  knell  is  knolled. 

Mai.  He ’s  worth  more  sorrow,  so 

And  that  I ’ll  spend  for  him. 

Siw.  He ’s  worth  no  more  : 

They  say  he  parted  well,  and  paid  his  score : 

And  so,  God  be  with  him  ! Here  comes  newer  comfort. 

Re-enter  Macduff,  with  Macbeth’s  head. 

Macd.  Hail,  king ! for  so  thou  art : behold,  where 
stands 

The  usurper’s  cursed  head  : the  time  is  free  : 55 

I see  thee  compassed  with  thy  kingdom’s  pearl, 

That  speak  my  salutation  in  their  minds ; 

Whose  voices  I desire  aloud  with  mine : 

Hail,  King  of  Scotland  ! 

All.  Hail,  King  of  Scotland  ! [ Flourish . 

Mai.  We  shall  not  spend  a large  expense  of  time  60 
Before  we  reckon  with  your  several  loves, 

And  make  us  even  with  you.  My  thanes  and  kinsmen, 
Henceforth  be  earls,  the  first  that  ever  Scotland 
In  such  an  honor  named.  What ’s  more  to  do, 

Which  would  be  planted  newly  with  the  time,  65 

As  calling  home  our  exiled  friends  abroad 
That  fled  the  snares  of  watchful  tyranny ; 

Producing  forth  the  cruel  ministers 

Of  this  dead  butcher  and  his  fiend-like  queen, 

87 


Macbeth. 


Act  V,  Scene  8. 


Who,  as ’t  is  thought,  by  self  and  violent  hands  70 

Took  off  her  life ; this,  and  what  needful  else 
That  calls  upon  us,  by  the  grace  of  Grace, 

We  will  perform  in  measure,  time  and  place : 

So,  thanks  to  all  at  once  and  to  each  one, 

Whom  we  invite  to  see  us  crowned  at  Scone.  75 

[Flourish.  Exeunt . 


8S 


APPENDIX 


THE  WRITING  AND  PUBLICATION  OF  MACBETH 

Real  interest  in  ascertaining  the  exact  year  in  which 
Shakespeare  wrote  any  one  of  his  plays  belongs  mostly 
to  those  who,  in  investigation,  love  not  the  end  of  the 
search  so  much  as  the  search  itself ; who  feel  the  charm  of 
conjecture  and  surmise,  of  argument  without  determina- 
tion, of  speculation  without  confirmation. 

It  is  a simple  thing  to  say  that  all  the  plays  of  Shake- 
speare were  written  during  a period  of  twenty  years,  from 
1591  to  1611  ; and,  beyond  wonder  at  the  shortness  of  the 
time,  there  is  no  great  interest  to  be  felt  in  the  fact.  But 
to  know  something  of  the  order  of  the  writing  of  that 
marvelous  series  is  an  alluring  problem,  of  which  one 
solution  is  almost  as  good  as  another,  and  no  final  solu- 
tion really  attainable. 

Had  the  plays  been  carried  as  soon  as  completed  to 
the  Stationers’  Register , — the  official  method  then  of 
licensing  publication,  — and  there  recorded,  all  would 
be  simple  enough.  But  a play  in  Elizabethan  days  was 
written  to  be  played,  not  read ; and  owners  and  managers 
of  theaters,  even  authors,  did  their  best  to  keep  a play 
out  of  print  until  its  popularity  on  the  stage  was  on  the 
wane,  — a date  of  varying  remoteness,  naturally,  from  its 
writing. 

Dowden  may  divide  Shakespeare’s  plays  into  four  pe- 
riods, and  give  them  illuminating  biographical  headings : 
“In  the  Workshop,”  .apprentice  days,  given  up  to  the 

89 


Appendix. 


writing  of  the  early  comedies;  “In  the  World,”  days  in 
a London  thrilling  with  the  life  of  the  Renaissance  and 
a new  patriotic  pride  in  England,  given  over  to  the  writing 
of  the  historical  plays;  “Out  of  the  Depths,”  days  of 
great  personal  suffering,  — envy,  hatred  and  malice  of 
rivals,  and  death  of  his  only  son,  given  to  the  writing  of 
tragedies;  “On  the  Heights,”  days  of  prosperity,  and 
quiet  after  storm,  back  again  in  Stratford,  given  to  the 
writing  of  the  romances. 

A very  simple  pattern,  — but  too  simple : the  divisions 
must  be  divided  and  subdivided  again,  to  allow  for 
early,  middle,  and  later  comedies,  and  tragedies,  or  his- 
tories plainly  written  out  of  the  second  period,  or  a ro- 
mance earlier  than  the  peaceful  closing  years.  So  there 
is  elusion  and  escape  on  every  hand ; but  there  is  always 
the  zest  of  the  chase  in  running  down  every  scent  that 
may  lead  to  cover. 

The  best  leads,  of  course,  in  establishing  the  date  of 
any  play  are  in  the  play  itself.  They  may  seem  very 
slight  evidences  as  we  array  them,  — especially  so  in  the 
case  of  “ Macbeth,”  — but  they  are  there,  and  mean  some- 
thing. For  instance,  in  Act  II,  Scene  iii,  we  find,  “Here ’s 
a farmer  that  hanged  himself  on  the  expectation  of 
plenty,”  — and  record  books  of  the  day  say  that  the  sum- 
mer and  autumn  of  1606,  with  a plentiful  harvest  and  no 
market,  were  tragic  seasons  for  the  English  yeomen. 

Again,  in  the  same  scene,  “here ’s  an  equivocator  that 
could  swear  in  both  scales  against  either  scale ; who  com- 
mitted treason  enough  for  God’s  sake,  yet  could  not 
equivocate  to  heaven,” — and  possibly  we  have  here  an 
allusion  to  the  controversy  on  the  morality  of  equivo- 

90 


Writing  and  Publication. 


cation  — a controversy  which  was  especially  acrimoni- 
ous just  after  the  Gunpowder  Plot  of  1605.  Competent 
Shakespearean  commentators  regard  as  futile,  attempts 
to  identify  the  equivocator  alluded  to.  In  the  judgment 
of  Edward  Dowden,  the  equivocator  is  Macbeth  himself. 

Still  again  we  read,  “here ’s  an  English  tailor  come  hither 
for  stealing  out  of  a French  hose,”  — and  a book  called 
The  Black  Year , by  one  Anthony  Nixon,  known  to  have 
been  published  in  1606,  says : “ Gentlemen  this  year  shall 
be  much  wronged  by  their  tailors  for  their  consciences 
are  now  much  larger  than  ever  they  were,  for  where  they 
were  wont  to  steale  but  half  a yard  of  broad  cloth  in 
making  up  a paire  of  breeches,  now  they  do  largely  nicke 
their  customers  in  the  lace  too,  and  take  more  than  enough 
for  the  new  fashion’s  sake  beside  their  old  ones.”  The 
French  hose,  according  to  the  style  of  1603-1606,  was  so 
short  and  tight  that  he  must  indeed  be  a swindler  who 
could  steal  anything  from  the  pattern  furnished  him. 

But  more  convincing  than  these  allusions  is  the  refer- 
ence in  Act  IV,  Scene  i,  to  the  union  of  the  three  kingdoms 
under  James  I:  “And  some  I see  that  two-fold  balls  and 
treble  scepters  carry.”  James  was  proclaimed  king  of 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland  in  October,  1604,  so  “Mac- 
beth ” plainly  was  written  after  1604 ; and,  as  such  notices 
in  plays  won  great  applause  in  those  days  from  audiences, 
probably  it  was  written  while  the  new  king’s  accession 
still  quickened  interest  in  Scottish  history.  And  just  as 
surely  must  the  play  have  been  written  before  1607,  since 
a play  carefully  registered  on  that  date  alludes  to  Ban- 
quo’s  ghost  in  “We  ’ll  ha’  the  ghost  i’  th’  white  sheet  sit 
at  upper  end  0’  th’  table.” 


91 


Appendix. 


The  date  of  “ Macbeth/’  then,  is  narrowed  to  some- 
where between  1604  and  1607  — with  some  probability 
of  its  being  1606.  Is  there  any  real  evidence,  however, 
for  making  it  later  than  1605?  Just  one  bit,  so  far  dis- 
covered— possibly  a strong  bit.  When  Macbeth  in 
Act  I,  Scene  iii,  being  made  Thane  of  Cawdor,  says,  “ Why 
do  you  dress  me  in  borrowed  robes?”  — a speech  followed 
out  by  Banquo’s  later  excuse  for  his  absorption,  — 

“New  honors  come  upon  him, 

Like  our  strange  garments,  cleave  not  to  their  mould 
But  with  the  aid  of  use,”  — 

the  dramatist  must  be  directing  that  an  actual  investi- 
ture take  place  upon  the  stage,  and  must  be  alluding  to 
the  recent  spectacle  of  the  investiture  of  Sir  David  Mur- 
ay  as  Lord  Scone  in  1605,  — a reward  that  came  to  him, 
as  to  Macbeth,  for  saving  his  king  from  traitors. 

What  might  be  the  greatest  help  of  all  in  fixing  the  date 
of  “ Macbeth”  is  the  likeness  between  the  witch  scenes  of 
Shakespeare  and  those  in  a contemporary  play,  The  Witch , 
by  Thomas  Middleton.  There  are  surprisingly  exact  and 
minute  similarities  in  phrases,  lines,  whole  dialogues,  in 
the  songs  of  the  witches,  and  in  the  presence  of  Hecate, 
Middleton’s  witch,  in  Shakespeare’s  play.  If  we  only 
knew  the  exact  date  of  the  writing  of  Middleton’s  play,  — 
but  we  do  not ! If  we  only  knew  whether  the  lesser  poet 
copied  from  the  greater,  or  the  greater  from  the  lesser ; if 
we  only  knew  whether  Shakespeare  asked  Middleton  to 
help  him  in  certain  parts  of  his  play,  or  if  Middleton, 
after  Shakespeare’s  death  and  before  the  folio  printing  of 
“ Macbeth,”  prepared  the  copy  himself,  interpolating  his 
own  work  as  it  was  not  uncommon  in  those  days  to  do ! 

92 


Writing  and  Publication. 


Surely  the  witch  scenes  in  Acts  III  and  IV  are  by 
another  hand  than  Shakespeare’s;  much  of  them  is  de- 
cidedly mediocre.  Even  to  an  untrained  reader  they  do 
not  sound  like  Shakespeare;  and  the  witches  of  Shake- 
speare in  the  first  and  last  acts  are  titanic  creations  in 
comparison  with  the  almost  commonplace  Hecate  of  Acts 
III  and  IV.  There  is  a helping  hand  evident, — and  that 
the  hand  is  Middleton’s  is  clear  enough  : but  whether  that 
hand  wrote  its  own  play  earlier  or  later  than  “ Macbeth,” 
or  whether  it  was  called  in  by  Shakespeare,  or  gave  gra- 
tuitous help  later,  we  have  so  far  no  way  of  determining. 

But  we  do  know,  for  a fact,  that  in  July,  1606,  the  King 
of  Denmark  came  to  England  to  pay  his  respects  to  his 
sister,  Queen  Anne,  and  on  August  3rd  was  made  a 
Knight  of  the  Garter.  Drummond  of  Hawthornden,  in 
a letter  written  upon  that  day,  says,  “ There  is  nothing 
to  be  heard  at  court  but  sounding  of  trumpets,  hautboys,- 
musick,  revellings,  and  comedies.”  Possibly,  almost  prob- 
ably, “Macbeth,”  — which  shows  great  haste,  masterly 
haste,  in  construction  and  composition,  and,  in  its  un- 
evenness, evidences  of  collaboration,  — was  hurriedly 
written,  possibly  by  the  order  of  King  James,  to  cele- 
brate that  event. 

Absolute  evidence  of  the  production  of  “Macbeth”  we 
find  in  a kind  of  dramatic  journal  by  Simon  Forman,  a 
London  astrologer  and  quack,  in  which  much  space  is 
given  to  the  play.  It  begins  thus : “In  Mackbeth  at  the 
Glob,  1610,  the  20  of  April,  there  was  observed,  first, 
howe  Mackbeth  and  Bancko,  two  noble  men  of  Scotland, 
riding  throuw  a wod,  ther  strode  before  them  three  women 
feiries  or  nimphes,  and  saluted  Mackbeth,  saying  three 

93 


Appendix. 


tymes  unto  him,  Haille  Mackbeth,  King  of  Codor;  for 
thou  shalt  be  a kinge,  but  shalt  beget  no  kings.”  At  least 
the  play  could  not  have  been  written  after  1610  ! 

During  Shakespeare’s  lifetime  only  a few  of  his  plays 
were  printed  in  quarto  form  — thin  bound  volumes  so 
called  because  the  printer’s  sheets  were  folded  twice  to 
make  four  leaves,  eight  pages,  about  six  inches  by  nine, — 
bearing  on  their  title-pages  a record  of  the  company  of 
players  who  had  acted  them,  sometimes  as  naive  a record  of 
their  success  as  this,  on  the  quarto  of  “ Romeo  and  Juliet  ” ; 
As  it  has  been  often  ( with  great  applause)  plaid  publicquely 
by  the  Right  Honourable  the  L.  of  Huns  don  his  servants . 

But  “ Macbeth  ” was  not,  so  far  as  is  known,  printed  in 
any  form  before  Shakespeare’s  death.  It  appeared  first 
in  the  First  Folio,  the  first  collection  of  the  plays  (1623). 
There  it  occupies  twenty-one  pages  in  the  division  of 
Tragedies,  between  “Julius  Caesar  ” and  “ Hamlet  and  in 
the  record  of  the  Stationers’  Company  it  is  registered  on 
November  8th,  1623,  as  a play  “ Not  formerly  entered  to 
other  men.”  It  stands  in  the  Folio  as  one  of  the  worst 
printed  plays,  — full  of  roughness  of  meter,  and  broken  and 
corrupt  passages,  which  may  indicate  that  it  was  printed 
from  a transcript  of  Shakespeare’s  manuscript  or  perhaps 
not  copied  from  the  original  but  written  to  dictation. 

The  editors  of  the  Clarendon  Press  believe  that  many 
parts  of  the  play  are  interpolations:  especially  do  they 
object  to  the  second  scene  of  the  first  act,  as  being  too 
perfunctory  for  Shakespeare’s  hand,  and  the  meeting  of 
the  witches  in  the  third  scene,  the  drunken  porter’s  solil- 
oquy in  the  second  act,  the  witch  scenes  in  the  third  act, 
and  some  of  the  prosy  scenes  of  the  fourth  and  fifth  acts. 

94 


MATERIAL  USED  BY  SHAKESPEARE  IN  MACBETH 

If,  as  seems  possible,  King  James,  to  celebrate  the  visit 
of  the  King  of  Denmark  in  1606,  asked  Shakespeare  for 
a new  play  to  be  presented  by  the  King’s  Players,  the 
dramatist  doubtless  hastily  consulted  such  material  as 
he  had  at  hand  for  a new  plot,  the  rough  clay  for  his  mold- 
ing. The  great  collection  which  had  never  failed  him 
was  The  Chronicle  of  England  and  Scotland , by  Raphael 
Holinshed  and  others,  in  folio  form.  Here  again  he  found 
what  he  wanted,  changed  it  as  he  wished ; and,  working 
with  the  freedom  of  his  greatness,  made  a Banquo,  a Dun- 
can, a Macduff  of  his  own,  — and  a Lord  and  Lady  Macbeth 
who  live  and  breathe  an  in  tenser  tragedy  than  any  mere 
chronicle  could  suggest,  except  to  a genius  like  Shake- 
speare. 

It  is  easy  enough  for  us  to  go  to  reprints  of 
The  Chronicle , and  read  there  the  even,  commonplace 
accounts  of  Holinshed,  but  there  is  never  a thrill  in  his 
stories  as  he  tells  them.  How  quietly  he  says,  “The 
words  of  the  weird  sisters  also  greatlie  incouraged  him 
hereunto,  but  speciallie  his  wife  lay  sore  upon  him  to  at- 
tempt the  thing,  as  she  that  was  verie  ambitious,  having 
an  unquenchable  desire  to  beare  the  name  of  queene.” 
Compare  with  that  the  burning  words  of  Lady  Macbeth 
in  the  great  speech  beginning.  “Glamis  thou  art,  and 
Cawdor;  and  shalt  be  what  thou  art  promised”  through 
to  the  heights  of, 

“Hie  thee  hither, 

That  I may  pour  my  spirits  in  thine  ear ; 

And  chastise  with  the  valour  of  my  tongue 

95 


Appendix. 


All  that  impedes  thee  from  the  golden  round, 

Which  fate  and  metaphysical  aid  doth  seem 
To  have  thee  crowned  withal.” 

It  is  the  climax  of  all  those  powerful  convincing  speeches 
of  hers  during  the  moments  of  Macbeth’s  wavering  over 
the  terrible  “ night’s  great  business,”  and  it  has  its  be- 
ginning in  a most  quiet  and  simple  statement  in  a prosy 
chronicle.  And  how  colorless  is  the  same  record  of  the 
“uncouth  wonder,”  the  “three  women  in  strange  and 
wild  apparell,  resembling  creatures  of  Elder  world,”  “god- 
desses of  destinie,  or  else  some  nymphs  or  fairies  indeed 
with  knowledge  of  prophesie  by  their  necromanticall 
science,”  “certaine  wizzards,”  in  comparison  with  the 
poet’s  powerful  sexless  figures,  controlling,  but  uncon- 
trolled, demons  of  the  “fog  and  filthy  air”  to  whom  for- 
ever “Fair  is  foul,  and  foul  is  fair  ! ” 

Or  again,  to  appreciate  the  vivid  lights  and  shadows  of 
Shakespeare’s  tragic  picture  of  hope  and  despair  fighting 
each  other  in  the  fifth  act,  we  need  only  read  Holinshed’s 
account:  “Malcome  following  hastilie  after  Mackbeth 
came  the  night  before  the  battell  into  Birnane  wood,  and 
when  his  armie  had  rested  a while  there  to  refresh  them, 
he  commanded  everie  man  to  get  a bough  of  some  tree 
or  other  of  the  wood  in  his  hand,  as  big  as  he  might  beare, 
and  to  march  foorth  therewith  in  such  wise,  that  on  the 
next  morrow  they  might  come  closelie,  and  without  sight, 
in  the  manner  within  viewe  of  his  enemies. 

“On  the  morrow  when  Mackbeth  beheld  them  coming 
in  this  sort,  he  first  marvelled  what  the  matter  ment,  but 
in  the  end  remembered  himself e that  the  prophesie  which 
he  had  heard  long  before  that  time,  of  the  coming  of  Bir- 

96 


Material  Used. 


nane  wood  to  Dunsinane  castell,  was  likelie  to  be  now 
fulfilled.  Nevertheless,  he  brought  his  men  in  order  of 
battell,  and  exhorted  them  to  doo  valiantlie,  howbeit 
his  enemies  had  scarcely  cast  from  them  their  boughs, 
when  Mackbeth  perceiving  their  number,  betooke  him 
streict  to  flight,  whom  Makduffe  pursued  with  great 
hatred  even  till  he  came  unto  Dunfounaine,  where  Mack- 
beth perceiving  that  Makduffe  was  hard  at  his  backe, 
leapt  beside  his  horse,  saieing : Thou  traitor,  what  mean- 
eth  it  that  thou  shouldest  thus  in  vaine  follow  me  that  are 
not  appointed  to  be  slaine  by  anie  creature  that  is  borne 
of  a woman ; come  on  therefore,  and  receive  thy  reward 
which  thou  hast  deserved  for  thy  paines,  and  there- 
with all  he  lifted  up  his  swoord  thinking  to  have  slaine 
him. 

“But  Mackduffe  quicklie  avoiding  from  his  horsse, 
eyer  he  came  at  him,  answered  (with  his  naked  sword  in 
his  hand)  saieing : It  is  true,  Mackbeth,  and  now  shall 
thine  insatiable  crueltie  have  an  end,  for  I am  even  he 
that  thy  wizzards  have  told  thee  of,  who  was  never  borne 
of  my  mother,  but  ripped  out  of  her  wombe : there  with  all 
he  stept  unto  him,  and  slue  him  in  the  place.” 

Such  passages  as  these  are  the  formless  matter  with 
which  Shakespeare  worked,  seizing  upon  every  dramatic 
possibility  he  foT  nd  in  prosaic  material,  upon  every  sug- 
gestion of  human  interest;  turning  formless,  seemingly 
insignificant  incidents  into  “ horrible  imaginings,”  or  fiery 
dialogues,  or  soul-searching  soliloquies,  and  massing  all 
into  what  Hallam  does  not  hesitate  to  call  “ the  most  sub- 
lime and  impressive  drama  which  the  world  has  ever  be- 
held.” 


97 


Appendix. 


One  may  read  all  the  extracts  from  Holinshed  which 
the  dramatist  apparently  used ; one  may  trace  with  exact- 
ness where  he  follows  and  where  he  strikes  out  a new  path 
for  himself ; one  may  speculate,  where  he  is  careless  of 
an  historical  fact,  whether  he  is  really  unconscious  of 
it,  or  willfully  disrespectful ; but  when  all  is  done,  nothing 
of  any  real  value  is  established  except  one  clear  spec- 
tacle — that  of  a truly  great  man’s  amazing  frankness 
in  borrowing  from  another’s  book  all  that  he  wanted, 
and  his  fearlessness  in  molding  it  to  his  own  artistic  pur- 
pose. 

In  those  days  when  plays  were  rapidly  demanded  by 
patrons  of  companies  of  players,  and  by  audiences  clamor- 
ing like  children  daily  for  some  new  thing,  such  a 
borrowing  of  material  was  not  uncommon.  Shakespeare 
was  not  thinking,  — as  the  “clever”  playwright  of  to-day 
must,  whose  success  largely  depends  upon  his  inventive- 
ness,— of  making  a plot  that  no  one  else  had  thought  of : 
he  was  thinking  of  using  one  as  no  one  else  had  used  it. 
He  knew  well,  from  his  own  actor  and  manager  days,  old 
plays  and  comtemporary  plays,  Italian  novellae , chroni- 
cles, histories,  ballads,  fables,  Plutarch’s  Lives , the  Gesta 
Romanorum , strange  books  on  demonology  and  witch- 
craft, books  of  travel ; current  events  even  were  sug- 
gestive to  him.  And  as  Kipling  says  of  Homer : 

“An’  what  ’e  thought  ’e  might  require, 

He  went  and  took.” 

His  creative  joy  was  not  in  inventing,  but  in  fashioning 
what  he  took  into  dramatic  form,  — the  rising,  accumu- 
lating complication,  the  lofty  climax,  the  inevitable 

98 


Material  Used. 


catastrophe.  His  is  always  the  pattern  of  the  weaving ; 
his,  the  colors,  the  shades;  let  other  men,  then,  furnish 
him  the  threads : he  could  use  the  slenderest,  or  the 
roughest.  Did  not  the  Greek  dramatists  the  same  ? 
Did  ^Eschylus  invent  the  plot  of  “The  Persians”  or 
“ Prometheus  Bound,”  or  Sophocles  that  of  “ Antigone” 
or  “Electra”  or  “(Edipus  the  King”?  Or,  jumping 
the  centuries,  did  John  Drinkwater  invent  any  of  the  ma- 
terial of  his  drama  “ Abraham  Lincoln”? 

Shakespeare  saw  clearly  the  dramatic  possibilities  in 
the  chronicle  of  Macbeth,  King  of  Scotland,  — and  knew 
unerringly  that  they  would  appeal  to  the  Elizabethan 
audience.  The  pervading  atmosphere  of  bloodshed,  and 
thunder  and  lightning,  darkness,  and  the  underworld, 
would  give  their  thrills.  The  murder  of  Duncan  is  an 
appealing  tale  at  any  time.  Ghosts  and  sleepwalking 
scenes,  — are  they  not  back  again  on  our  own  stage  to- 
day although  in  the  delicate  poetic  form  of  “ Peter 
Grimm”  or  “ Marie  Rose”  or  “The  Well-Remembered 
Voice”?  Prophecies,  with  quips  and  tricks  that  both 
defeat  and  fulfill  them,  could  be  counted  on  to  charm ; 
and  the  clash  of  arms,  at  the  end,  with  the  final 
courageous  battle-cry  of  the  hero, 

“Lay  on,  Macduff, 

And  damned  be  him  that  first  cries,  ‘Hold,  enough  !’” 

would  crown  all,  and  satisfy  both  royalty  in  the  court, 
and  the  vulgar  crowd  in  the  pit  of  “The  Globe.” 

Furthermore,  Shakespeare  saw  that  this  was  just  the 
history  to  flatter  King  James.  Tradition  said  that  Ban- 
quo  was  King  James’s  ancestor.  In  the  play  Banquo 

99 


Appendix. 


is  to  “get  kings,  though  he  be  none” : and  the  last  vision 
in  that  “show  of  kings”  that  rises  from  the  cauldron  and 
so  terrifies  Macbeth,  is  the  line  of  Banquo’s  issue,  for 
whom  “he  had  filed  his  blood,”  carrying  “two-fold  balls 
and  treble  sceptres,”  foretelling  what  soon  happened, 
the  union  of  Scotland,  England,  and  Ireland  under  the 
son  of  Mary  Stuart. 

James,  too,  was  intensely  interested  in  demonology; 
he  believed  in  the  sovereign’s  power  to  cure  “the  king’s 
evil”  which  Shakespeare  in  the  fourth  act  gives  as  an 
attribute  of  Edward  the  Confessor ; and  he  was  patriot 
enough  to  appreciate  the  poet’s  reconstruction  of  Duncan 
and  Banquo,  making  them  saints  beside  the  bloodthirsty 
and  vicious  portraits  in  Holinshed,  and  his  darkening 
of  Macbeth,  who  was  in  history  a righteous  and  benef- 
icent monarch,  into  a villain  that  would  dare  tamper 
with  the  sacred  succession  of  Scottish  kings ! Appar- 
ently, Shakespeare  says,  “ Thus  far  shall  I go  and  no  far- 
ther in  following  my  authority,  — my  bounds  are  set  by 
no  one  but  myself.” 

There  are  details  of  some  interest,  of  course,  in  com- 
paring the  drama  with  the  chronicle.  For  instance,  ab- 
solute history  says  that  Duncan’s  grandfather  dethroned 
and  slew  the  grandfather  of  Lady  Macbeth,  which,  al- 
though Shakespeare  did  not  tell  us  so  in  his  lines,  might 
give  to  Lady  Macbeth  a most  natural  if  unjustifiable 
motive  for  killing  Duncan : was  not  the  crown  right- 
fully hers  and  her  lord’s?  It  throws  much  light  back- 
ward on  those  long  discussions  the  two  must  have  had 
before  the  action  of  the  play  begins,  alluded  to  when 
she  says : 


IOO 


Material  Used. 


“Was  the  hope  drunk 
Wherein  you  dressed  yourself?” 

“What  beast  was  ’t,  then, 
That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me?” 

“Nor  time  nor  place 

Did  then  adhere,  and  yet  you  would  make  both.” 

Again  history  says  that  young  Siward  was  actually  slain 
several  years  before  the  battle  between  Macduff  and  Mac- 
beth ; but  who  would  forego  the  dramatic  power  of  that 
last  victory  of  Macbeth’s,  or  the  delicate  tenderness  of 
a father’s  restrained  grief  over  a boy  who  died  “with  all 
his  hurts  before”?  And  still  again  it  is  history  we  must 
blame  for  the  bathos  at  the  end  of  the  play,  when 
Macbeth’s  head  is  brought  in  upon  a pole,  and  he  and 
his  lady,  who  have  had  our  hearts’  sympathy  for  five 
acts,  are  called  by  Malcolm,  “the  dead  butcher  and  his 
Send-like  queen.” 

The  most  interesting  of  Shakespeare’s  willful  arrange- 
ments, or  rearrangements,  of  material,  is  his  substituting 
for  the  murder  of  Duncan, — a fact  barely  alluded  to  in 
Holinshed, — an  elaborately  planned  and  executed  mur- 
der of  another  king  by  another  assassin.  And  Lady 
Macbeth,  only  a name  in  the  chronicle,  is  the  other  mur- 
derer’s wife,  self-reliant,  ambitious,  executive,  powerful 
in  influence  over  her  husband,  borrowed  by  Shakespeare 
to  be  the  “undaunted  mettle”  of  his  heroine. 

All  such  comparisons,  however,  only  show  again  that 
Shakespeare  is  a literary  workman  in  finding  material 
that  he  wanted,  and  using  it  for  his  own  great  purposes. 
Only , being  a creator,  he  has  made  other  men’s  material 

IOI 


Appendix. 


live.  Mr.  Horace  Bridges,  in  his  delightful  volume,  Our 
Fellow  Shakespeare , gives  us  this  human  picture  of  the 
relation  between  the  dramatist  and  his  material : 
“His  method  of  work  lies  on  the  face  of  his  plays.  He 
crammed  for  each  of  them  as  the  college  man  crams  for  his 
exam, — though  with  far  less  regard  to  accuracy.  For 
his  English  or  Scottish  history  he  went  to  Holinshed. 
Whether  what  Holinshed  gave  was  true  he  did  not  know, 
and  he  cared  as  little  as  some  newspaper  reporters  care 
whether  what  they  write  is  true.  What  he  wanted  was 
material  for  a dramatic  story.  He  picked  it  up  wherever 
he  could  find  it,  and  he  made  such  use  of  it  as  he  chose. 
For  his  knowledge  of  foreign  countries  he  probably  de- 
pended much  more  upon  conversation  than  upon  books. 
. . . The  one  kind  of  knowledge  in  which  he  excelled 
all  other  men  — the  knowledge  of  human  character, 
of  the  loves  and  hates,  the  desires  and  aversions  of  the 
human  heart,  the  knowledge  of  The  breaking  strain  of  a 
man  under  temptation  ’ — such  knowledge  is  not  to  be 
found  in  books.  It  is  here  that  his  creative  force,  his 
unrivalled  powers  of  observation  and  sympathy,  came 
into  play.  Many  a schoolboy  might  correct  the  his- 
torical statements  and  implications  of  ‘ Macbeth.’  Any 
university  professor  could  point  out  anachronisms  and  im- 
possibilities by  the  score  in  ‘ King  Lear/  ‘ The  Winter’s 
Tale/  and  ‘ Cymbeline.’  But  where  was  the  school,  and 
where  were  the  books,  from  which  the  poet  learned  to 
describe  the  workings  of  Macbeth’s  soul  under  the  strain 
of  the  impulse  to  murder,  and  under  the  ever-deepening 
horror  of  the  sense  of  guilt?  . . . Book-learning  will 
account  for  knowledge,  but  not  for  wisdom  and  insight.” 

102 


THE  TIME  DURATION  OF  MACBETH 


To  establish  the  actual  number  of  days  presented  in 
“Macbeth/’  and  between  these  the  probable  length  of 
intervals,  brings  us  to  a matter  of  workmanship.  The 
dynamic  effect  of  a play  must  not  be  weakened  by  ex- 
planations; a word  here,  an  allusion  or  speech  there, 
may  give  a revealing  touch,  no  more.  And  when  these 
touches  are  arrayed  for  our  consideration,  we  see  that  the 
great  dramatist  leaves  nothing  hidden,  uncertain,  out  of 
order,  or  unexplainable. 

The  first  day  is,  for  Macbeth,  a day  that  marks  the 
completion  of  a winning  fight  with  the  forces  of  Norway 
and  the  traitor  Cawdor,  and  the  beginning  (although  he 
does  not  know  it)  of  a losing  fight  with  the  impalpable 
forces  of  evil,  in  the  Weird  Sisters.  On  that  day,  Act  I, 
Scene  i,  the  witches  plan  to  meet  Macbeth,  near  the  fight- 
ing place,  “ere  the  set  of  sun.”  At  the  same  time,  while 
the  battle  rages,  the  bleeding  sergeant,  in  Scene  ii,  tells 
of  Macbeth’s  bravery,  and  Duncan  orders  Macbeth  hon- 
ored with  the  title  of  Thane  of  Cawdor.  At  the  end  of 
the  day,  in  Scene  iii,  comes  the  meeting  of  the  witches 
with  Macbeth  and  Banquo  on  the  heath  as  they  leave 
the  battlefield.  How  much  material  is  compressed  here 
into  one  time  and  place  ! 

The  second  day  begins  with  Scene  iv,  in  the  morning, 
at  the  camp  and  includes  Scene  v at  Inverness,  and  Scene 
vi.  Scene  vii  is  the  same  evening  and  holds  the  great 

103 


Appendix 


moment  when  Macbeth  reads  in  his  wife’s  eyes  the  un- 
alterable determination  that  the  king  shall  never  go  hence. 
So  the  second  day  is  a perfect  unit  of  action : all  things 
work  together  for  the  death  of  the  king. 

The  third  day  begins  with  Scene  i of  Act  II,  and  includes 
all  the  action  through  Scene  iv.  In  Scene  ii,  Lady 
Macbeth  awaits  Macbeth  in  the  court,  and  the  knocking 
at  the  gate  sends  them  to  their  beds.  In  Scene  iii,  the 
porter  opens  the  gate  to  Macduff  and  Lennox ; Scene  iv 
is  evidently  the  same  early  morning.  So  again,  we  have 
unerring  compression  into  one  day  of  all  the  action  that 
centers  around  the  assassination  of  Duncan. 

Now  intervenes  an  interval  of  time , — just  how  long 
is,  of  course,  a matter  of  conjecture.  There  evidently 
has  been,  with  the  king  and  queen,  a period  of  “ restless 
ecstasy,”  of  growing  fears  of  Banquo,  of  “ rancours  in 
the  vessel  of  peace,”  of  “ sorriest  fancies,”  of  “ terrible 
dreams  that  shake  them  nightly,”  of  remorse  over  the 
crime  that  gave  for  a reward  only  “a  fruitless  crown” 
and  “a  barren  sceptre.”  Whether  the  time  is  one  week, 
or  two,  or  three,  hardly  matters.  The  interval  need  not 
be  a long  one. 

After  the  interval,  there  is  another  final  gathering  up 
of  action  into  one  day,  the  fourth.  Scenes  i,  ii,  iii,  and  iv 
of  Act  III  center  entirely  around  the  murder  of  Banquo. 
All  occur  in  one  day.  Scene  v seems  an  impossible  one 
to  place  in  any  scheme  of  time.  Perhaps  it  is  best  to 
call  it,  as  Furness  frankly  does,  “in  parenthesis,”  “a  link 
only  between  Acts  III  and  IV.” 

The  fifth  day , then,  opens  with  Act  IV,  Scene  i,  early 
morning  in  the  witches’  cavern.  Lennox  brings  news 

104 


Time  Duration. 


of  Macduff’s  flight  to  England.  Macbeth’s  determina- 
tion thereupon  that  he  will  seize  Macduff’s  castle, 

“give  to  the  edge  o’  the  sword 
His  wife,  his  babes,  and  all  unfortunate  souls 
That  trace  him  in  his  line.” 

is  the  great  argument  for  feeling  that  the  next  day , the  sixth , 
sees  the  murder  of  Scene  ii.  After  this  must  come  some 
interval  for  allowing  Ross  to  carry  the  tragic  news  to 
Macduff.  On  the  seventh  day  takes  place  the  long  conversa- 
tion between  Malcolm  and  Macduff,  — giving  the  dis- 
tinct impression  of  an  interval,  — before  Ross  arrives  to 
speak  those  tragic  words  which  “would  be  howled  out 
in  the  desert  air.”  Two  separate  days  only  then  are 
presented  in  the  entire  fourth  act : one  to  bend  Macbeth’s 
mind  upon  Macduff ; one  to  turn  Macduff’s  embittered 
mind  back  upon  Macbeth.  The  final  catastrophe  is  now 
fully  prepared. 

Act  V,  Scene  i,  the  sleepwalking  scene,  may  easily  be 
upon  the  night  of  the  seventh  day;  it  may  just  as  easily 
be  any  one  of  these  days  in  which  Malcolm  is  marching 
back  to  Scotland  with  his  English  recruits. 

On  the  eighth  day  Macbeth’s  deserters  march  to  Birnam 
and  join  the  English  forces,  in  Scene  ii;  and  Macbeth, 
in  Scene  iii,  hearing  this,  arms  himself  in  desperate  de- 
fense. 

On  the  ninth  and  last  day , in  one  great  rush  of  accumu- 
lating tragedy,  the  English  screen  their  army  with  boughs 
cut  in  Birnam  wood,  in  Scene  iv;  Lady  Macbeth  dies, 
in  Scene  v,  and  Birnam  wood  comes  to  Dunsinane ; the 
army  of  Malcolm  throws  down  its  leafy  screen,  in  Scene  vi ; 

IOS 


Appendix. 


Macbeth  gains  one  last  victory  in  slaying  Siward,  in 
Scene  vii,  and  his  final  defeat  in  fighting  Macduff,  in 
Scene  viii. 

Only  nine  days  are  selected,  then,  from  the  career  of 
Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth,  — and  yet  we  feel  we  know 
them  through  the  extended  period  of  a whole  lifetime ! 
We  sometimes  speak  of  the  “ Short  Time,”  and  the  “Long 
Time”  of  a drama  — two  things  existing  side  by  side. 
As  we  watch  “Macbeth”  on  the  stage  we  are  struck  with 
the  volcanic  power  of  those  nine  days  which  are  presented 
— the  “Short  Time”  : but  in  the  end  we  are  broken 
ourselves  with  the  spectacle  of  how  time,  the  “Long 
Time,”  has  dealt  with  two  human  souls  forever  fighting 
destiny.  It  is  only  to  appreciate  how  an  artist  can  in- 
stinctively manage  dramatic  compression  of  time,  and 
yet  keep  a background  of  time  moving  at  its  normal  rate, 
that  it  is  worth  while  to  compute  at  all  the  time  scheme 
of  any  great  drama. 


106 


TRAGIC  DESTINATION  IN  MACBETH 


All  discussions  as  to  what  constitutes  the  essence  of 
tragedy  and  the  essential  difference  between  tragedy  and 
comedy  resolve  themselves  into  one  simple  distinction. 
A tragedy  is  the  history  of  a man’s  struggle  against  fate, 
— fate,  in  its  broadest  sense,  meaning  whatever  is  appar- 
ently ordained  to  come  to  a man  in  the  way  of  tempta- 
tion to  entertain  evil  for  the  sake  of  some  high  prize  that 
is  to  him  the  “ chief  ornament  of  life.” 

In  the  struggle  with  this  temptation  the  hero  finds  that 
as  his  moral  fiber  weakens,  further  temptations  crowd 
upon  him.  At  the  same  time  he  becomes  conscious  of 
the  approach  of  retribution  for  the  first  wrongs  commit- 
ted ; in  fact,  this  shadow  of  punishment  is  often  the  minor 
spur  that  drives  him  to  yield  to  temptation  more  and 
more.  The  end  of  the  tragedy  is  inevitable,  that  he  shall 
lose  in  the  struggle  and  be  overcome  by  some  form  of 
disaster,  usually  death. 

Whether  destruction  of  spirit  with  death,  as  in  the  case 
of  Macbeth,  or  disintegration  of  spirit  without  death,  as 
in  the  case  of  Shylock,  the  point  must  always  be  main- 
tained that  flashes  of  the  original  spirit  of  the  man, — 
almost  a sunset  glow  of  what  was  his  splendid  dawn, — 
must  light  his  end,  lift  it  out  of  mere  commonplace  pun- 
ishment, and  show  us  a wreck,  to  be  sure,  but  still  a noble 
wreck.  Aristotle  says  of  the  hero  of  a tragedy : 

(i)  A tragedy  must  not  be  the  spectacle  of  a perfectly 
good  man  brought  from  prosperity  to  adversity.  For 
this  merely  shocks  us. 


107 


Appendix. 


(2)  Nor,  of  course,  must  it  be  that  of  a bad  man  pass- 
ing from  adversity  to  prosperity : for  that  is  not  tragedy 
at  all,  but  the  perversion  of  tragedy,  and  revolts  the  moral 
sense. 

(3)  Nor,  again,  should  it  exhibit  the  downfall  of  an 
utter  villain : since  pity  is  aroused  by  undeserved  mis- 
fortunes, terror  by  misfortunes  befalling  a man  like  our- 
selves. 

(4)  There  remains,  then,  as  the  only  proper  subject 
for  tragedy,  the  spectacle  of  a man  not  absolutely  or 
eminently  good  or  wise  who  is  brought  to  disaster  not  by 
sheer  depravity  but  by  some  error  or  frailty. 

(5)  Lastly,  this  man  must  be  highly  renowned  and 
prosperous  — an  GEdipus,  a Thyestes,  or  some  other  illus- 
trious person. 

Quiller-Couch  writes1:  “A  hero  of  Tragic  Drama 

must,  whatever  else  he  miss,  engage  our  sympathy ; that, 
however  gross  his  error  or  grievous  his  frailty,  it  must 
not  exclude  our  feeling  that  he  is  a man  like  ourselves; 
that,  sitting  in  the  audience,  we  must  know  in  our  hearts 
that  what  is  befalling  him  might  conceivably  in  the  cir- 
cumstance have  befallen  us,  and  say  in  our  hearts,  ‘There, 
but  for  the  grace  of  God,  go  I.  ’ ” 

This  insures  the  combination  of  admiration  and  pity 
which  the  figure  of  a tragic  hero  is  always  entitled  to, 
even  demands.  Then,  if  we  turn  all  this  terrible  and  real 
struggle  into  the  lines  of  a mock-struggle,  which,  although 
it  seems  most  real  to  the  characters  involved,  is  only 
make-believe,  because,  as  we  know  from  o.ur  side  of  the 
curtain,  the  apparent  obstacles  are  no  obstacles  at  all,  we 
1 Shakespeare’s  Workmanship,  p.  17. 

108 


Tragic  Destination. 


have  the  essence  of  a comedy.  The  complications  are 
unraveled  by  some  unexpected  surprise,  the  light-hearted 
characters,  at  the  end  of  their  short  session  of  seeming 
disasters,  go  on  laughing  and  loving  to  a happy  denoue- 
ment — usually  marriage. 

Variety  in  either  comedy  or  tragedy,  of  course,  comes 
in  the  characters  themselves  and  in  the  kinds  of  obstacles 
which  fate  puts  in  their  way.  In  “ Macbeth,”  the  most  in- 
teresting, because  the  most  subtle  and  pervading  obstacle, 
the  supernatural,  is  the  very  thing  which  at  first  seems  to 
be  his  chief  inspiration  and  support.  It  is  childish  to 
say  that  the  witches  are  Macbeth’s  great  temptation; 
it  is  true  understanding  of  the  tragedy  to  say  that  his 
Destiny,  including  his  temptation  and  his  reaction  to  it, 
his  career  of  crime  and  his  retribution,  are  bound  up  in 
the  most  complex  way  with  the  power  that  the  super- 
natural has  over  him. 

To  understand  just  how  subtle  this  influence  is  we  need 
only  look  at  the  hero’s  attitude  toward  it  when  it  appears 
first  in  the  form  of  temptation.  When  the  witches  first 
came  to  Macbeth,  — as  when  a sign  or  “ voice”  comes  to 
any  one,  — there  were  three  ways  1 in  which  he  might 
receive  their  prophecy : he  might  blindly  obey  it,  in  the 
sense  of  letting  its  fulfillment  become  the  chief  business 
of  his  days ; second,  he  might  ignore  it,  being  conscious 
of  it  but  letting  it  have  no  influence  whatever  upon  his 
actions ; third,  he  might  oppose  it  by  being  ever  on  the 
alert  to  see  that  no  act  of  his  should  in  the  least  be  in- 
fluenced by  it.  Following  through  the  lines  of  the  play 

1 This  is  fully  worked  out  by  Professor  Moulton  in  his  essay  on 
Macbeth , in  Shakespeare  as  a Dramatic  Artist , Chapter  VI. 

109 


Appendix. 


we  find  at  first  when  Macbeth  is  hailed  as  “king 
hereafter”  he  determines,  after  the  first  thrill  has  died 
away,  that  he  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  temptation 
that  the  words  offer  to  him.  He  says : 

“If  chance  will  have  me  king  why  chance  may  crown  me 
Without  my  stir.” 

And  only  three  lines  later  he  strengthens  that  with 
“Come  what  come  may, 

Time  and  the  hour  runs  through  the  roughest  day.” 

That  seems  to  be  following  the  second  type  of  ignoring 
the  supernatural  by  being,  or  trying  to  be,  indifferent 
to  it.  But  what  happens  almost  immediately?  Malcolm 
is  named  Prince  of  Cumberland,  and  Macbeth,  realizing 
that  this  puts  an  end  to  what  may  have  been  a strong 
possibility  of  the  crown’s  coming  peacefully  to  him, 
exclaims : 

“The  Prince  of  Cumberland,  that  is  a step 
On  which  I must  fall  down  or  else  o’erleap, 

For  in  my  way  it  lies.” 

To  commit  himself  to  this  overleaping  he  changes  his  action 
to  the  first  type,  obeying  the  prophecy  by  trying  to  do 
away  with  all  that  opposed  its  fulfillment.  So  he  goes 
on  helping  to  fulfill  through  the  entire  rising  action  of 
the  play ; and  when  that  unnecessary  crime  which  marks 
the  turning  point  holds  in  itself  a threatening  failure  in  the 
escape  of  Fleance,  Macbeth  for  the  first  time  fears  that 
his  obedience  to  the  supernatural  has  in  it  some  flaw.  So, 
this  time  of  his  own  accord,  he  seeks  out  the  witches,  and 
they  give  him  for  his  discomfort  the  apparition  of  the  long 

no 


Tragic  Destination. 


line  of  kings,  of  Banquo’s  sons,  that  shall  succeed  him, 
and  for  his  comfort  the  two  assurances, 

“ Macbeth  shall  never  vanquished  be  until 
Great  Birnam  wood  to  high  Dunsinane  hill 
Shall  come  against  him,” 
and 

“ Laugh  to  scorn 

The  power  of  man,  for  none  of  woman  born 
Shall  harm  Macbeth.” 


Macbeth  confides  blindly  in  the  apparent  meaning  of  these 
words ; in  the  sense  of  absolutely  relying  on  them  and  act- 
ing on  that  reliance,  he  does  obey  them ; and  his  action 
continues  of  the  first  type.  Confident  that  Birnam  wood 
can  never  march  upon  his  castle  he  shuts  himself  up  there, 
— and  so  the  English  army  comes.  Confident  that  he  can 
never  be  hurt  by  any  one  born  of  woman,  he  murders  right 
and  left  — and  so  his  subjects  leave  him  to  reinforce  the 
English  ranks.  Without  realizing  it  at  all,  he  is  winding  up 
his  own  fate,  although  he  believes  that  his  fate  lies  safe  in 
the  hands  of  supernatural  powers  who  are  protecting  him. 

Unfortunately  in  this  attitude  of  obedience  there  is 
an  element,  on  his  part,  of  willfulness.  Really  his  wish 
to  kill  Fleance  is  his  desire  to  frustrate  a part  of  the 
witches’  oracles,  an  attempt  to  make  “ assurance  doubly 
sure.”  So  here,  with  his  disobedience,  the  Irony  of  Fate 
begins  its  work.  The  element  of  mockery  in  the  witches 
we  have  always  felt  from  the  very  beginning  of  the  play, 
having  the  reader’s  and  the  author’s  omniscience,  and 
having  seen  and  heard  the  witches  at  their  evil  pastimes 
as  Macbeth  never  saw  them. 


! 


III 


Appendix. 


So  we  are  ready  to  find  irony  in  every  success  that  they 
apparently  allow  Macbeth.  There  is  irony  in  the  killing 
of  Duncan  because  Malcolm  and  Donalbain  escape,  only 
to  come  back  later  and  do  their  part  in  fulfilling  Macbeth’s 
destiny.  There  is  irony  in  the  death  of  Banquo  because 
Fleance  still  lives ; for  the  “ worm  that  ’s  fled  hath 
nature”  or  natural  inclination,  which  “in  time  will 
venom  breed.”  There  is  irony  in  the  putting  to  death 
of  Macduff’s  wife  and  children  simply  to  quiet  the  witches’ 
warning  “Beware  Macduff,”  because  the  plot  failed,  in 
Macduff’s  absence  from  Fife,  to  do  anything  more  than 
stir  him  up  to  speedy  vengeance  upon  Macbeth.  There 
is  irony  in  the  prophecy  about  Birnam  wood,  for  in  the 
simplest  and  most  natural  way  the  English  forces  conceal 
themselves  with  its  branches  and  the  “moving  forest” 
comes  to  Dunsinane.  Relying  in  desperation  upon  the 
last  oracle,  Macbeth,  fighting  against  the  desperate 
Macduff,  hears  from  his  lips  the  words, 

“Despair  thy  charm; 

And  let  the  angel  whom  thou  still  hast  served, 

Tell  thee,  Macduff  was  from  his  mother’s  womb 
Untimely  ripped.” 

Fate  is  a mocker;  and  Macbeth,  realizing  this,  at  last, 
as  we  did  at  first,  drops  his  sword,  curses  the  “juggling 
fiends”  “that  palter  with  us  in  a double  sense,”  and  says 
he  will  not  fight.  But  Macduff’s  taunt,  “Coward,” 
brings  back  to  him  that  courage  that  a tragic  hero  must 
hold  to  the  end,  and  he  cries, 

“Lay  on,  Macduff, 

And  damned  be  him  that  first  cries  ‘Hold,  enough  !’” 

I 12 


Tragic  Destination. 


But  he  realizes  at  this  last  moment  that  every  word  the 
Weird  Sisters  spoke  to  him  was  ironical,  and  that  the 
attitude  he  took  toward  their  prophecies,  whether  blind 
obedience  or  opposition,  served  only  to  bring  his  doom 
upon  him.  Then  must  he  also  have  realized  that  the  clear 
soul  could  escape  only  by  trusting  something  so  much 
higher  that  opposition  to  the  supernatural,  — the  third 
type,  — would  be  its  only  possible  attitude. 

In  ancient  tragedies  oracles  revealed  to  men  their 
destinies;  as  pagan  religions  vanished,  oracles  became 
dumb  ; but  Christianity  did  not  wholly  silence  in  the  ears 
of  men  the  solicitings  of  the  supernatural.  Demons  and 
witches,  dreams,  apparitions,  ghosts,  voices,  last  still: 
and  still  seem  to  men  to  reveal  their  hidden  futures. 
Shakespeare’s  age,  of  course  far  more  than  this, 
trusted  to  these  things;  and  so  he  used  them  in  his 
tragedies. 

This  does  not  mean,  however,  that  he  is  pagan  in  his 
use  of  them,  for  the  cosmic  retribution  that  he  constructs 
for  his  tragic  heroes  is  always  true  to  the  Christian  idea 
of  moral  law.  So  the  witches  are  more  than  witches  and 
the  apparitions  more  than  the  stuff  of  superstition,  — 
they  are  Universal  Temptation,  Yielding,  and  Retribu- 
tion. And  Macbeth  is  any  man  who  listens  too  easily 
to  voices  he  would  most  gladly  hear,  most  evilly  follow, 
and,  — when  the  following  brings  disaster,  — most  bit- 
terly blame.  Like  thousands  of  others  the  growth  of  his 
ambition  is  a series  of  natural  steps ; the  career  of  his 
ambition  an  unreasoning  orgy  of  license  and  waywardness ; 
and  the  decline  of  his  ambition,  perfectly  balancing  its  rise, 
is  first  a shaken  confidence  in  self  and  then  a complete 

“3 


Appendix. 


surrender  to  the  self-destruction  of  self,  the  “ natural 
nemesis  by  which  vice  courts  its  own  doom.” 

Shakespeare’s  idea  of  the  moral  order  of  the  world  was 
the  simple  and  true  one  — “what  a man  sows  that  shall 
he  reap”;  and  the  tragedy  lies  not  in  his  destroy- 
ing what  belonged  to  others  — property,  character,  or 
life  — but  in  the  destruction  of  what  belonged  to  himself 
— the  gift  of  God  — his  own  spirit.  That  he  should  re- 
tain something  of  this  spark,  that  it  should  give  one  bright 
flash  before  it  dies,  is  essential  to  the  greatness  of  tragedy ; 
for  it  stirs  both  our  pity  and  our  admiration  for  the  hero, 
to  have,  at  the  last  second,  a revelation  and  reminder  of 
what  he  was  once.  Milton,  for  this  reason,  gave  us  the 
unconquerable  Satan,  and  Shakespeare,  for  the  same 
reason,  the  fighting  Macbeth,  both  “beating  through  the 
dark  and  never  losing  one  inch  of  a tack,”  for  one 
moment,  agonizingly  aware  of  their  own  self-destruction, 
splendidly  heroic,  splendidly  tragic. 


THE  DRAMATIC  CONSTRUCTION  OF  MACBETH 


Shakespeare’s  dramatic  form  leads  us  back  to  the  laws 
of  Aristotle,  as  he  in  turn  found  them  illustrated  in  the 
tragedies  of  ^Eschylus,  Euripides,  and  Sophocles. 

He  accepted  the  classic  model  of  five  acts  for  a drama. 
He  furthermore  followed  it  in  using  the  first  act  for  ex- 
position of  the  situation  and  characters,  the  second  and 
third  for  developing  characters  and  plot  to  a climax  which 
should  be  in  the  third  or  possibly  early  in  the  fourth  act, 
the  fourth  and  fifth  for  a gradual  downward  fall  of  action 
toward  the  final  catastrophe  and  denouement. 

This  is  his  law,  especially  in  his  tragedies ; but  in  none 
is  the  form  so  sharply  and  accurately  proportioned  up 
to  the  climax  and  down  from  the  climax  as  in  “ Macbeth.” 
In  comparison  with  “ Hamlet ” there  are  in  “ Macbeth” 
really  few  philosophical  discussions  to  express  dramatically. 
In  comparison  with  “ The  Merchant  of  Venice”  there  is  a 
single  story  rather  than  four,  to  be  put  in  dramatic  form ; 
and  it  flows  evenly  in  a single  line  bent  to  artistic  sym- 
metrical forms. 

No  form  is  so  symmetrical  as  that  of  the  perfect  arch. 
Imagine  then  the  five  acts  making  such  an  arch,  with  the 
keystone  exactly  in  the  center.  As  a matter  of  fact  the 
central  act  of  the  five  acts  is  the  third ; the  third  act  con- 
tains five  scenes,  of  which  the  central  scene  is  the  third ; 
therefore  the  keystone  is  Act  III,J$cene  iii.  This  is  the 
scene  in  which  Banquo  is  killed  and  Fleance  escapes.  The 
death  of  Banquo  is  the  last  of  Macbeth’s  successes ; the 

115 


Appendix. 

*1 

escape  of  Fleance  is  the  first  of  a long  line  of  failures  which 
end  only  when  Macbeth  is  overcome.  This  scene,  then, 
is  the  exact  climax  and  the  exact  turning  point. 

From  the  first  scene  of  the  first  act  Macbeth  has  risen 
by  a series  of  crimes,  apparently  successful,  to  the  point 
where  he  dares  plot  two  murders,  not  because  they  are 
necessary  to  his  being  king,  but  simply  because,  as  he 
says,  he  fears  the  loyalty  of  Banquo’s  nature,  and  is  jeal- 
ous of  the  prophecy  of  the  Weird  Sisters  that  Banquo’s 
sons,  not  his,  should  be  kings  of  Scotland.  To  plan 
murders  for  the  possession  of  the  coveted  throne  may, 
if  successfully  carried  out,  easily  be  the  dramatic  material 
for  mounting  action ; the  transition  from  murder  for  the 
sake  of  overcoming  a real  obstacle  to  murder  for  the  sake 
of  overcoming  an  imaginary  obstacle  in  the  future  is,  of 
course,  the  dramatic  turning  point  in  the  man’s  career ; and 
right  at  that  point  Nemesis  begins  its  work  of  downfall. 

In  the  falling  action  of  the  play  we  have  a series  of  fail- 
ures and  disasters,  and  the  final  Nemesis  comes  personified 
in  the  avenging  Macduff.  What  Banquo  is  to  the  rising 
action  ofThe  first  half  of  the  play,  Macduff  is  to  the  fall- 
ing action  of  the  second  half,  the  rising  action  being  a series 
of  crimes  whose  retributions  are  the  material  of  the  falling 
action.  And  the  arch  is  completed  when  all  hopes  upon 
which  Macbeth  relied  in  the  first  half  prove  traitor  to 
him  in  the  second  half ; and,  deserted  by  even  the  super- 
natural upon  which  his  mounting  hopes  so  strongly  re- 
lied, he  dies  at  the  hand  of  the  man  whom  above  all  others 
he  had  so  needlessly  and  shamelessly  wronged. 

This  is  not  saying  that  Shakespeare  planned  a perfect 
arch  with  a keystone  which  should  be  the  turning  point 

116 


Dramatic  Construction. 


of  his  play ; but  it  is  saying  that  he  knew  that  a career 
of  crime  is  naturally  balanced  by  a course  of  retribution. 
It  is  a play  full  of  “ sound  and  fury,”  and  that  sound  and 
fury  are  evenly  balanced  by  the  hero’s  suffering  from  the 
realization  that  they  “ signify  nothing.” 

The  symmetry  that  was  so  dear  to  the  Greeks  is  perfect 
in  this  play,  but  perfect  not  so  much  because  the  drama- 
tist was  conscious  of  it  as  a matter  of  form,  as  he  was 
conscious  that  the  cosmic  law  is  that  evil  shall  be  balanced 
in  actual  life  by  punishment,  that  the  pendulum  shall 
swing  as  far  backward  as  it  has  been  pressed  forward, 
or,  simply,  that  action  and  reaction  are  equal  and  oppo- 
site in  direction.  There  were  some  Greek  laws  of  the 
drama  which  Shakespeare  felt  free  to  refuse  as  limita- 
tions : — why  should  he,  in  Elizabethan  England,  confine 
himself  to  the  Unity  of  Time,  limiting  the  action  of  a 
play  to  what  might  in  reality  happen  within  twenty-four 
hours;  or  to  the  Unity  of  Place,  limiting  the  action  to 
one  scene?  Those  were  laws  conditioned  entirely  by 
peculiarities  of  the  Greek  stage  and  production. 

The  great  law  of  the  drama,  the  Unity  of  Action,  re- 
quiring that  the  play  should  be  firmly  molded  around 
one  great  central  event,  he  never  dreamed  of  discarding ; 
and  keeping  that  law  gave  perfection  and  symmetry  to 
the  form  of  “ Macbeth.”  In  comparison  with  the  weaving 
together  of  the  four  stories  in  “ The  Merchant  of  Venice,” 
each  with  its  own  climax,  and  each  entering  and  leaving 
the  play  without  any  symmetrical  relationship  to  the 
others,  the  form  of  “ Macbeth  ” rises  like  a single  mountain 
peak  “ out-topping  knowledge.” 


ii  7 


THE  VALUE  OF  CHARACTER  CONTRAST  IN  MACBETH 


There  is  another  special  interest,  however,  in  “Macbeth” 
quite  as  engrossing  as  that  of  its  perfect  structure ; that 
is,  the  wonderful  portrayal  of  contrast  in  character  — a 
contrast  brought  into  startling  vividness  in  a situation 
in  which  two  natures  different  but  perfectly  complemen- 
tary are  bound  together  in  a common  enterprise.  There 
are,  of  course,  character  contrasts  in  all  of  Shakespeare’s 
plays,  but  there  is  none  so  striking  as  this.  When  one 
speaks  the  name  of  the  play,  one  thinks,  first  of  all,  not 
of  witches,  nor  of  murder,  nor  of  ghosts,  but  of  those  two 
figures  living  from  scene  to  scene  side  by  side  — Macbeth 
and  Lady  Macbeth. 

Every  play  has  its  own  peculiar  point  that  engrosses 
our  attention : “ Richard  III  ” is  a study  in  ideal  villainy ; 
“ The  Merchant  of  Venice  ” is  a study  of  the  conflict  of  two 
great  ethical  systems ; “ As  You  Like  It  ” is  a study  of  dif- 
ferent types  of  humor  in  rebellion  against  conventional 
life;  “Hamlet”  is  a study  of  an  original  spirit  fighting 
against  all  philosophies  and  religions.  So  “Macbeth”  is 
preeminently  a study  in  the  contrast  between  two  lives ; 
and,  what  is  more  complex,  a contrast  between  the  outer 
and  the  inner  life  of  each. 

At  first  thought,  character  contrast  does  not  seem  any- 
thing more  than  one  of  the  simplest  forms  of  arousing 
dramatic  interest ; and  that  has  been  done  in  a hundred 
plays.  But  in  only  one  has  it  been  so  subtle  and  so  mar- 
velously consistent  that  it  is  the  beginning  and  end  of 

1 18 


Character  Contrast. 


all  interest  and  the  one  haunting  impression  long  after 
the  fifth  act  closes. 

Since  Professor  Moulton’s  publication,  in  1906,  of  his 
essay  entitled  “Macbeth,  Lord  and  Lady,”  1 no  commen- 
tator has  been  able  to  say  anything  new  on  this  topic 
and  none  has  been  able  to  forget,  or  neglect,  any  of  his 
fine  distinctions.  What  follows  here  is  only  a simplifi- 
cation of  his  idea  since  the  book  is  not  generally  available 
for  students.  It  starts  with  the  simple  working  basis 
that  Macbeth  is,  when  the  play  opens,  essentially  a man 
of  action  and  of  experience  in  affairs, — affairs  meaning 
in  those  days,  of  course,  mostly  war  and  the  material  con- 
cerns of  a thane  of  wealth  and  power  and  position. 

In  those  days  the  genius  of  men  found  its  scope  in  the 
outer  world,  or  the  practical,  and  less  than  in  our  day 
were  men  concerned  with  problems  of  the  inner  life. 
Macbeth  is  in  outer  life  a giant,  but  in  his  inner  life  proves 
to  be,  as  the  play  progresses,  a mere  child.  Such  a con- 
trast Shakespeare  could  make  most  effective  up  to  the  last 
moment  of  his  hand  to  hand  fight  with  Macduff. 

On  the  other  hand,  what  of  a woman  of  those  days, — 
a woman  who  had  possibilities  of  greatness  and  was  not 
framed  to  be  merely  a possession  of  her  lord?  In  what 
could  her  spirit  find  scope?  She  must  perforce  spend 
much  of  her  life  in  her  own  castle,  watching  her  lord  go 
forth  to  war,  then  waiting  for  his  return.  What  she 
was  would  depend  entirely  upon  what  she  thought  and 
did  while  waiting.  The  play  reveals  to  us  that  Lady 
Macbeth  spent  these  hours  not  in  idle  vanity,  but  that 
she  had  ated  and  settled  for  herself  many  a problem 
1 “ Shakespeare  as  a Dramatic  Artist”  (Oxford,  1906). 

119 


Appendix. 


of  life,  reduced  perhaps,  when  we  come  to  count  them,  to 
those  two  things  which  are  always  the  great  concerns  of 
a woman’s  life  — birth  and  death. 

The  children  that  had  died  in  infancy  Macbeth  could 
forget  in  battle ; but  Lady  Macbeth  brooded  over  death 
until  she  had  worked  out  her  own  acceptance  of  it, — 
“the  sleeping  and  the  dead  are  but  as  pictures.”  At 
one  great  crisis  this  stands  her  in  good  stead ; it  sustains 
her  afterward  through  the  stormy  years  described  in  the 
play.  She  also  had  discovered  her  own  weaknesses ; 
she  knew  that  tenderness  often  betrays  strength  and  there- 
fore must  sometimes  be  trampled  under  foot  if  the  enter- 
prise in  hand  is  to  be  carried  through.  She  has  as  much 
force  as  Macbeth  but  it  is  a force  born  in  a different 
sphere,  and  it  might  never  have  shown  so  sharply  in  con- 
trast to  his,  had  not  a common  ambition  demanding  co- 
^^operation  started  the  two  into  action  side  by  side. 

Macbeth,  as  a man  of  action,  is  impetuous,  imperious, 
accustomed  to  obedience,  used  to  carrying  out  his  every 
plan  regardless  of  consequences ; but  he  has  never 
troubled  himself  to  face  any  moral  problem  or  any  great 
moral  crisis,  and  when  he  creates  these  for  himself  he 
finds  himself  strangely  inadequate.  He  is  not  a good  man 
worked  upon  by  ambition,  or  by  witches,  or,  according 
to  the  old  accepted  point  of  view,  by  an  over-ambitious 
wife ; he  is  rather  a man  who  wants  what  he  wants ; and, 
if  assured  that  the  consequences  will  not  make  him  pay 
too  dearly,  immediately  he  goes  about  to  get  what  he 
wants.  His  morality  is  most  conventional  and  tradi- 
tional, but  a love  of  the  good  for  its  own  sake  is  not 
in  him. 


120 


Character  Contrast. 


Lady  Macbeth  herself  in  her  wonderful  analysis  of 
his  character,  in  the  fifth  scene  of  the  first  act,  says  that 
he  is  “too  full  o’  the  milk  of  human  kindness.”  If  human 
kindness  is  written  as  one  word  it  takes  the  simple  meaning 
of  human  nature,  as  if  it  were  written  humankind-ness. 
That  is,  she  thinks  that  he  is  too  much  like  all  other 
human  beings  to  dare  attain  the  thing  he  wishes  unless 
it  accords  with  his  conventional  idea  of  morality.  She 
realizes  that  something  greater,  than  mere  humankind- 
ness  is  needed  for  their  success.  It  is  fair  to  read  the 
word  this  way  because  is  there  any  place  in  the  play  where 
Macbeth  shows  any  kindness  in  the  other  sense? 

And  does  not  Shakespeare  use  the  words  kind,  kindly, 
and  kindness,  meaning  usually  that  which  is  merely 
natural?  She  describes  him  as  wishing  to  be  great  and 
having  ambition,  but  lacking  the  courage  to  carry  out 
his  ambition. 

“What  thou  wouldst  highly 
That  wouldst  thou  holily ; wouldst  not  play  false, 

And  yet  wouldst  wrongly  win : thou  Tdst  have,  great 
Glamis, 

That  which  cries  ‘Thus  thou  must  do,  if  thou  have  it/ 
And  that  which  rather  thou  dost  fear  to  do 
Than  wishest  should  be  undone.” 

That  is,  Macbeth  has  no  objection  to  evil  because  it  is 
evil  but  he  has  objection  to  ill  report  and  disgrace.  Is 
this  not  the  very  meaning  of  ordinary  humankind-ness  ? 

When  Macbeth  himself  sums  up  the  reasons  why  he 
should  not  murder  the  king,  they,  too,  are  altogether  con- 
ventional. He  is  afraid  of  retribution,  he  is  afraid  of 

1 21 


Appendix. 


the  life  to  come,  he  is  afraid  that  if  he  kills  the  king  he 
may  teach  others  by  example  how  to  kill  him  when  he 
becomes  king.  He  objects  to  murdering  Duncan  on 
grounds  of  loyalty,  blood  relationship,  gratitude  for  honors 
bestowed,  and  pity.  But  never  does  he  abhor  the  deed 
because  it  is  an  outrage  to  human  life  or  because  it  is  for- 
bidden by  God.  He  rather  seems  to  regret  that  he  has 
not  some  stronger  motive  than  “Vaulting  ambition  which 
o’erleaps  itself  and  falls  on  the  other  side.” 

His  is  not  a searching  examination  of  himself, — he  is 
not  acquainted  with  his  inner  nature ; it  is  just  an  exam- 
ination of  what  is  likely  to  happen  if  by  treachery 
he  seizes  the  crown.  Contemplation,  periods  of  thinking 
like  this  all  through  the  play  render  him  almost  helpless ; 
but  when  there  is  a deed  to  perform,  something  to  be 
actually  done,  he  is  a man  again  and  at  home  in  action. 
This  and  this  alone  could  account  for  those  many  highly 
colored  soliloquies  in  which  he  seems  before  the  acting  of 
an  evil  thing  to  glory  with  an  almost  poetic  enthusiasm 
in  the  setting  for  his  crime.  The  darkness  of  that  night 
when  “o’er  the  one  half-world  nature  seemed  dead” 
did  seem  to  give  him  spirit  and  assurance. 

Moulton  says,  “The  man  who  had  been  frightened 
from  the  table  of  his  guests  by  the  mere  thought  of  a 
crime,  moves  to  the  deed  itself  with  the  exalted  language 
of  a Hebrew  prophet.”  When  the  deed  is  done,  however, 
he  returns  from  the  king’s  chamber  a child  again  in  in- 
action, whimpering  because  he  cannot  say  “Amen”  to 
the  prayers  of  the  grooms.  The  great  difficulty  lies  right 
here,  — that  any  career  of  action  necessarily  has  its 
pauses  of  inaction  or  reaction.  In  these,  strength  of 

122 


Character  Contrast. 


inner  life  is  needed.  Without  it  a man  is  helpless  in 
times  of  suspense  and  most  likely  to  betray  himself. 

The  old-fashioned  idea  of  Lady  Macbeth  was,  of  course, 
that  she  was  a fiendj?  “His  fiend-like  queen,”  Malcolm 
calls  her,  at  the  end  of  the  play.  ^But  the  text  shows  her 
clearly  as  a woman  of  insight  into  character;  she  knows 
Macbeth  far  better  than  he  knows  himself ; /her  imagi-  ] 
nation  is  quick  and  vivid,  and  a source  of  great  suffering 
as  well  as  great  exaltation  to  her.  Experience  has  given 
it  many  pictures  to  harbor.  A 

4'  At  our  first  sight  of  her,  in  the  fifth  scene  of  the  first  act, 
we  understand  at  once  that  she  is  accustomed  to  make  a 
fixed  decision  and  to  hold  everything  unwaveringly  to 
it.  “Shalt  be  what  thou  art  promised”  is  the  quick  con- 
clusion of  her  reading  of  the  letter  concerning  the  witches, 
and  with  this  conclusion  all  the  rest  of  her  action 
throughout  the  play  is  consistent.  Quivering  nerves, 
shaking  tenderness,  pitiful  sense  of  blood-stained  hands, 
more  pitiful  recognition  later  of  the  whole  moral  disin- 
tegration of  her  lord,  keep  her  before  us  always  as  a 
woman  of  delicate  sensibilities,  not  a “fiend.” 

She  has  no  conventional  compunctions  against  killing 
Duncan.  She  reasons  with  a peculiar  morality  that, 
since  they  have  agreed  that  they  want  Duncan  out  of 
the  way  and  his  crown  upon  their  heads,  it  is  cowardly, 
weak,  immoral  for  them  to  draw  back,  still  wishing , when 
the  opportunity  of  seizing  the  crown  comes  to  them.  It 
is  a terrible  thing  continually  to  want  to  do  an  evil  act 
and  continually  to  hold  back  through  fear.  And  this 
terrible  thing  is  the  evil  that  she  is  keeping  Macbeth  from, 
according  to  her  way  of  thinking,  but  which  wc  forget 

123 


Appendix. 


when  we  say  that  she  drove  him  to  the  crime.  This  fal- 
tering, to  her,  is  unmanly  and  mean;  and  as  for  crying 
about  virtue,  she  feels  that  he  renounced  that  long  ago 
when  he  first  entertained  an  evil  ambition. 
r Before  the  play  opens  all  this  is  established,  for 
Macbeth  had  as  much  right  to  the  crown  as  Duncan,  and 
plainly  he  and  Lady  Macbeth  had  discussed  possibilities 
of  the  future  frankly  together. 

“ What  beast  was  ’t  then; 

That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me?” 

she  says,  at  that  crisis  in  the  seventh  scene  of  the  first 
act,  when  he  is  so  near  to  refusing  to  commit  the  murder. 
So  the  idea  of  the  crime  was  plainly  his  : and  hers  was  the 
terrible  task  of  holding  him  to  what  he  had  agreed  to  do. 
To  have  done  this  through  a period  possibly  of  years 
would  be  enough  in  itself  to  develop  her  will  and  her  inner 
strength.' 

Then  the  play  opens  and  carries  us  through  periods  of 
temptation,  of  perpetration  of  crime,  of  attempts  at  con- 
cealment, and  of  final  retribution.  Is  the  contrast  be- 
tween a woman  strong  in  the  inner  life  and  a man  strong 
in  outer  action  held  consistently  through  these  four 
phases?  If  it  is,  we  can  hardly  deny  that  this  contrast 
is  Shakespeare’s  own  great  dramatic  interest  in  writing 
this  tragedy. 

It  must  be  to  serve  this  purpose  of  contrast  that  Shake- 
speare brings  immediate  temptation  to  Macbeth  and 
Lady  Macbeth  when  they  are  apart  from  each  other. 
Macbeth  feels  it  closing  in  around  him  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  success  in  battle  and  the  king’s  weak 

I24 


Character  Contrast. 


inactivity,  in  the  plaudits  of  the  soldiers  at  his  victory, 
and  much  more  in  the  prophecy  of  the  witches.  So 
closely  does  this  last  reveal  his  innermost  thoughts  that 
he  gives  a perceptible  start  that  rivets  the  attention  of 
Janquo,  to  whom  the  predictions  seem  only  interesting 
'.nd  curious. 

Shakespeare  had  no  intention  of  giving  us  a hero  whose 
character  could  be  turned  from  good  to  evil  by  the  agency 
of  the  supernatural  merely ; but  the  man  has  played  with 
evil  so  long  that  even  slight  sparks  start  a blaze.  Sud- 
denly to  him  it  seems  that  his  dream  of  years  might  become 
a reality.  Have  not  the  powers  of  darkness  told  him 
that  his  fate  lies  in  that  direction?  His  mind  is  not  dis- 
ciplined enough  in  thought  to  give  the  supernatural  as 
little  value  as  belongs  normally  to  it. 

In  contrast,  f upon  Lady  Macbeth  _ the  supernatural 
makes  hardly  any  impression)  She  reads  her  husband’s 
letter  in  the  fourth  scene,  with  excitement  intense  enough 
to  crush  it  in  her  hand  when  she  has  finished,  clinching 
her  fingers  with  the  rigid  determination  that  her  lord 
shall  have  what  has  been  promised,  — shall  have  it  by 
his  activity  and  her  help,  not  by  waiting  in  passive  ex- 
pectancy for  the  supernatural  to  bring  it.  Just  as  she 
has  finished  the  torture  of  thinking  that  Macbeth  may 
not  have  the  courage  to  seize  this  opportunity,  the  mes- 
senger enters  to  say  that  the  king  comes  to  her  castle  that 
night.  That  is  her  great  moment.  She  is  racked  with 
feeling,  and  knows  that  Duncan’s  entrance  under  her 
battlements  is  to  be  fatal.  It  is  the  opportunity  that 
makes  her  temptation  — and  the  suddenness  of  the  op- 
portunity is  a shock. 


125 


Appendix. 

-J 

The  great  day,  so  intensely  desired,  is  at  hand,  and  she 
sees  the  deed  in  a moment.  Her  prayer  to  be  unsexed 
and  filled  with  cruelty  is  a wonderful  reflection  of  what 
she  really  is,  — a gentlewoman  through  and  through, 
and  of  what  she  must  be  changed  into  if  she  is  to  use  the 
keen  knife.  At  the  height  of  her  cry  for  help  in  doing 
what  she  knows  her  soul  will  abhor,  Macbeth  enters,  and 
the  moment  her  eyes  meet  his  she  starts  on  her  terrible 
but  devoted  mission  of  holding  him  to  his  ambitiorn 
Right  here  at  the  end  of  the  fifth  scene  and  throughout 
the  seventh  there  is  a period  of  suspense  which  again 
brings  them  into  contrast. 

Macbeth’s  face,  she  says,  “is  as  a book  where  men  may 
read  strange  matters.”  For  fear  he  may  waver  she 
pleads  with  him  to  put  the  “night’s  great  business”  into 
her  dispatch,  only,  himself,  to  bear  welcome  to  the  king 
and  leave  all  the  rest  to  her.  The  king  comes  and  she 
greets  him  with  wonderfully  controlled  courtesy.  Such 
gentleness  of  breeding,  such  concern  for  hospitality,  such 
careful  acknowledgment  of  late  favors,  whether  they  be 
sincere  or  not,  no  “fiend”  could  voice.  Then,  missing 
Macbeth  from  the  supper  chamber,  she  finds  him  weak, 
dissolved,  at  the  end  of  his  speech  in  which  he  counted 
the  reasons  against  killing  his  king. 

This  is  a moment  of  appalling  danger  to  her.  She 
appeals  to  his  love,  taunts  him  with  cowardice,  compares 
his  present  wavering  with  the  manliness  he  had  when  he 
“broke  the  enterprise”  to  her,  and  finally  avows  that  she 
would  kill  her  smiling  babe  rather  than  be,  as  he  is,  on 
the  point  of  cowardly  refraining  from  a deed  to  which  he 
had  sworn  his  allegiance.  There  is  nothing  left  for  Mac- 

126 


Character  Contrast. 


beth  to  say  but,  “If  we  should  fail?”  Then  she  gives  him 
an  outline  of  every  detail  in  the  carrying  out  of  the 
murder,  even  to  the  putting  of  the  guilt  upon  the  sleeping 
grooms. 

And  the  man  of  action,  with  the  details  of  action  sup-f 
plied  him,  and  with  the  weight  of  decision  taken  from  his 
own  shoulders,  suddenly  finds  himself  again  strong  and 
settled  to  the  terrible  feat.  Lady  Macbeth  is  strongest 
here,  at  the  outset,  and  Macbeth  is  feeblest.  The 
strength  of  her  trained  mind  can  see  every  step  of  the  way ; 
but  the  delicacy  of  her  mind,  together  with  delicacy  of 
body  and  sensitiveness  of  soul,  could  not  endure  the  phys- 
ical enactment  of  those  steps. 

$ So,  in  the  carrying  out  of  the  deed  she  passes  to  weak- 
ness as  Macbeth  passes  to  strength.  The  taking  of  a 
stimulant  to  give  herself  fire  shows  she  knew  she  would 
be  weak  when  the  actual  bloodshed  began.  She  waits 
in  the  court  for  Macbeth  to  come  back  from  the  king’s 
chamber,  agonized  with  fear  that  he  may  not  succeed, 
agonized  that  she  herself  could  not  murder  the  king  when 
she  had  gone  into  his  room  to  lay  the  daggers  ready.  She 
could  not  because  he  resembled  her  sleeping  father.  This 
is  not  the  compunction  of  a “fiend.” 

Then  as  Macbeth  comes  staggering  back,  there  are  only 
two  words  that  she  can  say,  and  they  tax  the  powers  of 
any  actor  of  the  part,  for  they  mean  a thousand  things 
in  one,  “My  husband!”  There  is  a quick  moment  of 
hysterical  questioning  and  answering  between  them,  for 
Macbeth,  the  deed  done,  is  a baby  again  and  needs  all 
kinds  of  assurances  that  the  grooms  did  not  wake,  and 
that  he  did  not  hear  them  cry  “God  bless  us,”  and  that 

127 


Appendix. 


there  is  no  time  for  him  to  debate  why  he  could  not  say 
“ Amen.”  The  woman’s  trained  mind  must  again  fill  in 
the  gap,  — strangely  enough  this  time  the  exhortation 
not  to  think  so  “ brain-sickly  of  things”  has  also  to  be 
strengthened  by  furnishing  a direction  for  action  * 

“Go  get  some  water 

And  wash  this  filthy  witness  from  your  hands.” 

But  there  is  another  complication.  What  desperate 
anxiety  in 

“ Why  did  you  bring  these  daggers  from  the  place  ? ” 
He  refuses  to  carry  them  back ; again  she  forces  her  jun- 
strung  nerves  to  fill  up  the  gap.  Her  trained  mind  comes 
to  the  rescue.  She  has  seen  death  before.  She  has  her 
own  philosophy  about  it.  She  says  it  is  the  “eye  of  child- 
hood that  fears  a painted  devil,”  and  with  what  may 
possibly  be  a hysterical  pun,  gild  and  guilt , she  carries 
the  daggers  back  to  the  sleeping  grooms.  She  returns 
to  find  Macbeth  crying  over  the  blood  upon  his  hands. 
She  tries  to  quiet  him  with 

“My  hands  are  of  your  color  but  I shame 
To  wear  a heart  so  white,” 

and  when  this  does  not  avail,  gives  again  a practical  sug- 
gestion, 

“A  little  water  clears  us  of  this  deed, 

Get  on  your  nightgown  lest  occasion  call  us 

And  show  us  to  be  watchers.” 

And  how  exactly  she  puts  her  finger  upon  his  weakness, 
and  yet  how  tenderly,  when  with  “Be  not  lost  so  poorly 

128 


Character  Contrast. 


in  your  thoughts/’  she  leads  him  away  from  the  ominous 
knocking  at  the  gate.  So  it  was  that  the  strength  of 
her  inner  life  came  to  their  rescue  and  instinctively  fur- 
nished to  the  man  of  outer  life  such  practical  details  as 
made  him  immediately  capable  of  action. 

In  the  time  of  first  concealment  of  the  crime,  when  the 
castle  is  aroused  to  the  news  of  the  murder  of  the  king, 
Macbeth  seems  much  more  at  home  than  Lady  Macbeth. 
He  is  dealing  with  men,  he  is  concealing  something  from 
men  of  his  own  rank.  He  acts  the  part  of  innocence  fairly 
well  and  carries  everything  along  successfully  until  he  an- 
nounces that  he  was  the  one  who  killed  the  grooms.  His 
defense  of  that  murder,  when  Macduff  questions  him, 
shows  that  this  was  the  mistake  that  might  wreck  the 
whole  scheme.  Without  this,  Lady  Macbeth’s  plan  would 
have  worked  perfectly. 

There  is  silence  after  Macbeth’s  defense,  a silence  that 
is  ominous  until  Lady  Macbeth  cries,  “ Help  me  hence.” 
Is  she  appalled  at  the  risk  he  has  taken,  and  is  her  woman’s 
delicacy  so  shocked  by  the  thought  of  additional  bloodshed 
that  she  faints  naturally?  Or  is  she  again  calling  the 
strength  of  her  mind  to  serve  them  in  a pretended  faint 
that  shall  distract  attention  from  her  husband?  If  the 
former,  she  showed  wonderful  control  in  holding  out  to 
the  last  moment ; if  the  latter,  she  showed  wonderful 
instinct  in  choosing  the  critical  moment  to  create  the 
diversion.  Her  fainting  saved  the  situation.  The  sons 
of  Duncan  fly  almost  immediately  and  Lord  and  Lady 
Macbeth  are  crowned  king  and  queen  at  Scone. 

In  the  longer  period  of  concealment  — that  period 
that  covers  the  rest  of  the  play  — Macbeth’s  longing 

129 


Appendix. 


for  action  and  for  those  moments  of  feeling  at  home  be- 
cause he  has  “great  deeds  in  hand”  proves  to  be  his  down- 
fall. He  acts  simply  because  he  cannot  keep  still  and 
face  suspense.  That  is  the  real  reason  for  Banquo’s 
murder,  and  the  real  reason  why  he  does  not  tell  his  plaiP 
to  Lady  Macbeth,  who,  he  knows,  would  oppose  it.  Her 
way  'would  be  to  wait  for  an  opportunity  of  getting  rid 
of  Banquo  if  it  was  necessary. 

But  waiting  is  the  one  thing  that  Macbeth  can  never 
do.  Into  this  longer  time  of  concealment  comes  the  whole 
of  their  retribution.  \ Ijdacbeth  has  relied  in  the  beginning 
upon  the  supernatural,  so  his  punishment  comes  largely 
from  that  realm.  He  faces  Banquo’s  ghost  as  if  he  knew 
that  it  was  his  retribution.  He  has  not  the  trained  mind 
to  reason  about  the  ghost  consistently.  Lady  Macbeth, 
true  to  her  character,  fights  even  then  when  it  seems  hope- 
less to  keep  up  appearances  for  him.  It  is  a beautiful 
revealing  of  her  nature  when,  at  the  banquet,  finding  that 
her  questions  do  not  recall  him  to  his  senses,  she  protects 
him  from  the  curiosity  of  his  guests,  dismisses  them,  and 
hurries  them  away. 

When  they  have  left  the  room  she  is  all  love  as  she  leads 
him,  as  one  leads  a child,  away  to  sleep,  “the  season  of  all 
natures.17  There  is  a whole  picture  of  Lady  Macbeth’s 
love  for  her  husband  in  scattered  passages  like  these  which 
we  must  take  into  account  in  appreciating  her  character. 
Tactics  that  she  uses  before  others  she  drops  for  pure 
tenderness  when  she  is  with  him  alone.  This  was  one  of 
the  hundred  meanings  in  “My  husband ! ” when  he  came 
from  Duncan’s  bedside.  She  dedicated  herself  then  to  pro- 
tect him  with  ail  the  strength  of  her  mind  and  heart  forever. 

I30 


Character  Contrast. 


As  the  months  go  on,  her  mind  gradually  breaks.  We 
know  that  it  breaks  over  just  one  thing,  — that  murder 
in  which  she  was  forced  to  take  a physical  part,  for  all 
her  ravings  are  centered  on  that  which  was  most  repellent 
to  her  nature  and  which  only  her  strength  of  mind  could 
enforce  her  to  endure,  — blood.  All  the  ravings  about 
her  hands,  the  wife  of  the  Thane  of  Fife,  the  putting  on 
of  their  nightgowns,  the  starting  of  her  lord  at  the  feast, 
show  that  night  after  night  she  had  been  living  through 
these  scenes;  and  the  terrible  struggle  to  keep  her  hus- 
band from  betrayal  added  its  own  greater  weight  to  their 
horror.  Her  sighs  and  cries  come  from  a “sorely  charged 
heart,”  a woman’s  heart  not  a “ fiend’s.”  The  mind  on 
which  she  had  depended  finally  breaks  and  we  are  prac- 
tically told  that  she  takes  her  own  life. 

Macbeth’s  suffering  in  retribution  is  consistent,  too. 
His  mind  is  still  no  help  to  him  for  it  still  works  along 
the  path  of  fear  and  regret  and  the  emptiness  of  life. 
There  is  irony  in  every  seeming  success.  So  little  hap- 
piness has  the  crown  brought  him  that  he  has  looked 
back  with  longing  upon  Duncan,  sleeping  peacefully  “after 
life’s  fitful  fever.”  The  death  of  Banquo  held  only  a 
sting,  for  Fleance  escaped  and  his  issue  is  to  inherit  the 
throne. 

Suddenly,  too,  he  suffers  from  the  supernatural,  for, 
going  to  the  witches  for  comfort,  he  receives  only  equiv- 
ocal promises  which  in  the  end  betray  him.  When 
Macduff  tells  him  that  he  is  in  reality  “no  man  of  woman 
born”  Macbeth  sees,  for  the  first  time  because  his  poorly 
trained  mind  could  not  foresee  it,  that  he  is  doomed. 
Like  a man  of  action  he  fights  still  with  an  old  time  trust 

131 


Appendix. 


in  bravery.  Crying  “Lay  on,  Macduff,  and  damned  be 
him  that  first  cries  ‘Hold  enough,’ ” he  enters  a long, 
bitter,,  desperate,  hand  to  hand  fight,  — a picture  which 
brings  vividly  back  to  us  the  reports  of  his  valiant  cour- 
age against  the  enemy,  in  the  first  scenes.  His  feet 
slide,  he  fights  on  his  knees,  his  sword  is  struck  from  his 
hand.  The  man  of  action  has  died  in  action. 

The  contrast  in  the  natures  and  experiences  of  Macbeth 
and  Lady  ^^..qbeth  is  carried  out  consistently  even  to 
their  deaths.'  Both  are  admirable  in  their  strength  and 
both  their  forms  of  courage  are  necessary  to  the  accom- 
plishment of  their  plans.  Both  are  pitiful,  too,  in  their 
weakness.  Her  strength  of  soul  has  no  counterpart  in 
physical  strength ; his  bodily  vigor  has  no  counterpart 
in  spiritual  force.  But  what  each  lacks  the  other  supplies 
and  that  perfect  partnership  works  with  a terrible  resist- 
less force  toward  their  common  ruin.  Her  last  thought 
in  the  sleepwalking  scene  is  for  him ; his  deepest  grief  is 
for  her  death,  — devoted  lovers  throughout  their  whole 
career. 


132 


VERSE  AND  PROSE  IN  MACBETH 


What  form  of  verse  did  Shakespeare  use?  Apparently 
a simple  question,  simply  answered  with : all  of  Shake- 
speare’s plays  were  written  in  blank  verse,  — iambic 
pentameter  without  rhyme.  But  in  reality  there  is  ro- 
mance in  the  words  “ blank  verse”  and  “Shakespeare” 
written  together  — a romance  of  such  beauty  as  engages 
all  our  wonder,  if  we  will  only  see  it  apart  from  the  bar- 
ren technicalities  of  meter  and  rhyme. 

Shakespeare  admired  Marlowe’s  verse : — he  felt  all 
its  power  and  volume  and  its  kind  of  sublimity.  So  he 
made  Marlowe’s  line  his  ship  of  adventures  and  started 
on  his  own  voyage  of  discovery.  At  first  his  venturings 
were  cautious:  he  stopped  his  sentences  at  the  end  of 
the  line- — “end-stopped  line”;  he  gave  to  every  line  a 
rhythm  like  that  of  every  other ; he  made  the  last  syllables 
of  all  his  lines  strong  and  accented,  — as  “vault”  and 
“oak,”  masculine  endings : and  of  course  a certain  monot- 
onous tune  showed,  in  spite  of  many  passages  of  sheer 
beauty,  in  the  earliest  plays.  The  number  of  rhyming 
lines  in  these  plays  seems  to  indicate  that  he  is  not  bold 
enough  wholly  to  discard  conventional  rhyme. 

Then  he  began  to  sail  more  fearlessly:  his  lines  often 
“ran  over,”  feminine  endings  appear  — as  “vaulting” 
and  “oak-leaf,”  rhyme  appeared  much  less  often;  and 
this  variety  in  his  newer  manner  gave  the  effect  not  of  a 

133 


Appendix. 


single  tune,  but  of  a music  varying  with  the  quality  of 
what  it  wanted  to  express.  This  change  is  apparent 
enough  if  we  compare  almost  any  passage  in  the  early 
comedies  with  almost  any  one  from  the  later.  Let 
us  take  two  that  have  the  same  kind  of  beauty  to 
express. 

“ But  love,  first  learned  in  a lady’s  eyes, 

Lives  not  alone  immured  in  the  brain ; 

But  with  the  motion  of  all  elements, 

Courses  as  swift  as  thought  in  every  power, 

And  gives  to  every  power  a double  power, 

Above  their  functions  and  their  offices. 

It  adds  a precious  seeing  to  the  eye,  — 

A lover's  eyes  will  gaze  an  eagle  blind ; 

A lover’s  ear  will  hear  the  lowest  sound, 

When  the  suspicious  head  of  theft  is  stopped : 

Love’s  feeling  is  more  soft,  and  sensible, 

Than  are  the  tender  horns  of  cockled  snails : 

Love’s  tongue  proves  dainty  Bacchus  gross  in  taste : 
For  valour  is  not  Love  a Hercules, 

Still  climbing  trees  in  the  Hesperides? 

Subtle  as  sphinx ; as  sweet  and  musical 
As  bright  Apollo’s  lute,  strung  with  his  hair ; 

And,  when  Love  speaks,  the  voice  of  all  the  gods 
Makes  heaven  drowsy  with  the  harmony. 

Never  durst  poet  touch  a pen  to  write, 

Until  his  ink  were  temper’d  with  Love’s  sighs : 

O,  then  his  lines  would  ravish  savage  ears, 

And  plant  in  tyrants  mild  humility.” 

— Love’s  Labour’s  Lost,  IV,  iii. 

134 


Verse  and  Prose. 


“Now,  my  fairest  friend, 

I would  I had  some  flowers  o’  the  spring,  that  might 
Become  your  time  of  day ; — and  yours,  and  yours, 

That  wear  upon  your  virgin  branches  yet 
Your  maidenheads  growing : — O Proserpina, 

For  the  flowers  now,  that,  frighted,  thou  let’st  fall 
From  Dis’s  waggon ! daffodils, 

That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty ; violets,  dim, 

But  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Juno’s  eyes, 

Or  Cytherea’s  breath ; pale  primroses, 

That  die  unmarried,  ere  they  can  behold 
Bright  Phoebus  in  his  strength,  — a malady 
Most  incident  to  maids ; bold,  oxlips,  and 
The  crown-imperial ; lilies  of  all  kinds, 

The  flower-de-luce  being  one  ! O,  these  I lack, 

To  make  you  garlands  of ; and  my  sweet  friend, 

To  strew  him  o’er  and  o’er ! 

Flo . What,  like  a corse? 

Per . No,  like  a bank,  for  love  to  lie  and  play  on ; 

Not  like  a corse ; or  if,  — not  to  be  buried, 

But  quick,  and  in  mine  arms.  Come,  take  your 
flowers : 

Methinks  I play  as  I have  seen  them  do 
In  Whitsun-pastorals : sure,  this  robe  of  mine 
Does  change  my  disposition. 

Flo.  What  you  do 

Still  betters  what  is  done.  When  you  speak,  sweet, 

I ’d  have  you  do  it  ever : when  you  sing, 

I ’d  have  you  buy  and  sell  so ; so  give  alms ; 

Pray  so  ; and,  for  the  ordering  yoir  affairs, 

135 


Appendix. 


To  sing  them  too : when  you  do  dance,  I wish  you 
A wave  o’  the  sea,  that  you  might  ever  do 
Nothing  but  that ; move  still,  still  so, 

And  own  no  other  function  : each  your  doing, 

So  singular  in  each  particular, 

Crowns  what  you  are  doing  in  the  present  deeds, 

That  all  your  acts  are  queens. ” 

— The  Winter’s  Tale,  IV,  iii. 

These  two  passages  lie  some  twenty  years  apart  in 
Shakespeare’s  writing.  There  is  beauty  in  both  of  them. 
There  is  to  the  eye  the  same  form  in  both.  But  what  a 
difference  is  there,  when  they  are  read  aloud ! Now 
Shakespeare  wrote  not  for  the  eye  to  read,  but  for  the  ear 
to  hear,  — verse  to  be  spoken  aloud  and  to  be  spoken  by 
human  beings  under  the  stress  of  some  strong  feeling. 
Would  not  he  inevitably  see  that  all  that  made  for  regu- 
larity in  lines  and  endings  would  make  against  the  natural 
life-like  ways  of  human  speech?  If  he  set  his  sails  to 
that  wind  of  “ truth  to  nature”  would  he  toss  without 
compass  upon  the  sea  ? Possibly  he  may  have  questioned 
himself  in  some  such  way.  If  so,  his  answer  evidently 
was  in  the  spirit  of  his  time  — “I  ’ll  take  the  adventure.” 

He  did,  — and  his  ship  sailed  beautifully  — bent  to 
the  winds  of  feeling  as  they  blew  — but  steadily  keeping 
its  course.  His  blank  verse  did  what  no  poet’s  before 
had  done  — combined  the  melody,  the  loftiness,  the  dig- 
nity, the  sublimity  of  poetry  with  the  simple  naturalness 
of  human  speech.  So  do  his  later  plays  surpass  his 
earlier  — in  growing  closer  to  nature,  while  losing  none 
of  the  perfection  of  technical  points  — the  life  experience 

136 


Verse  and  Prose. 


of  any  artist.  As  a young  artist  he  was  controlled  by 
his  medium;  through  experience  he  became  master,  and 
played  with  it  as  he  willed. 

This  freedom  from  form  for  the  sake  of  getting  closer 
to  nature  shows  us  in  “ Macbeth  ” many  instances  of  fyrhat 
we  are  likely  to  speak  of  as  irregularities  in  the  verse. 
These  are,  of  course,  quite  different  from  imperfections 
caused  by  errors  or  gaps  in  copy.  Often  these  errors 
have  been  spoken  of  in  the  notes  — but  it  is  only  the  in- 
tentional irregularities  that  we  are  here  concerned  with. 

The  first  great  class  we  may  call  the  “ broken  line.” 
Take,  for  example,  Act  I,  Scene  v.  There  are  in  that 
scene  eighteen  broken  lines;  but  in  every  case  but  one 
the  unfinished  last  line  of  a speech  finishes  itself  with  the 
broken  line  at  the  beginning  of  the  following  speech,  the 
two  together  forming  the  perfect  pentameter.  Why  should 
Lady  Macbeth,  in  the  intense  excitement  of  this  moment 
when  she  hears  of  the  coming  of  Duncan,  finish  any  speech 
with  the  complete  five  accented  lines?  Would  a real 
Lady  Macbeth  be  so  controlled?  Then,  logically,  of 
course,  one  might  ask  why  should  the  next  speaker  have 
to  be  careful  to  begin  his  speech  with  just  enough  accents 
to  complement  her  broken  line?  True,  he  should  not; 
but  does  not  the  beginning  of  a speech  admit  naturally 
of  more  temperate,  measured  expression?  And  since, 
after  all,  Shakespeare  is  writing  blank  verse,  must  he  not 
perfect  the  line  — but  perfect  it  in  the  finest  way  pos- 
sible? So  “To  have  thee  crowned  withal”  and  “What  is 
your  tidings?”  make  one  complete  pentameter  line; 
so  do  “The  king  comes  here  to-night,”  and  “Thou  ’rt  mad 
to  say  it,”  We  can  go  through  the  entire  scene  in  this 

*37 


Appendix. 


way  with  no  difficulty  except  an  apparent  one  in  line  32, 
which  can  be  made  perfect  by  reading  “ prepara tion” 
as  a word  of  five  distinct  syllables. 

But  there  are  some  broken  lines  that  cannot  be  mended 
so  easily : in  Act  I,  Scene  ii,  line  41 , we  have  only  “ I can- 
not tell”  and  a complete  line  following.  Here,  of  course, 
the  break,  punctuated  by  the  dash,  is  significant  of  the 
breathlessness  of  the  boy,  — but  there  is  no  evidence  that 
Shakespeare  ever  did  that  intentionally  without  giving 
the  full  complement  in  the  following  line.  One  text  makes 
the  line  read,  “I  cannot  tell:  but  I am  faint,”  which 
gives  us  only  four  accents  and  leaves  dangling  “My  gashes 
cry  for  help.”  So  there  is  evidently  something  lost  here. 
So  is  there  in  line  51,  “With  terrible  numbers.”  And  in 
Act  II,  Scene  ii,  there  is  something  either  lost  or  put  in, 
for  the  agitated  questions  of  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth 
will  not  come  perfectly  into  the  measure  of  five  beats. 
But  for  the  most  part  one  may  easily  verify  for  himself 
by  scanning  a page  of  the  text  here  and  there,  that  the 
really  imperfect  lines  are  very  few.  Shakespeare  surely 
kept  to  his  pattern,  but  his  indifference  about  the  pres- 
ervation of  his  manuscripts  as  surely  marred  what  was 
once  perfect.  Occasionally  a group  of  short  lines  like  the 
following  seems  impossible  to  handle : 

“For  ever  knit. 

Ride  you  this  afternoon? 

Ay,  my  good  lord.” 

We  can  make  the  first  two  together  form  a perfect  pen- 
tameter ; or  the  last  two.  So  the  middle  line  does  double 
service,  and  has  been  named  by  some  critics,  “amphib- 

138 


Verse  and  Prose. 


ious”  — literally  meaning  “ leading  a double  life,”  hence 
“ doing  double  duty.”  But  there  is  a theory,  also,  that 
these  are  what  may  be  called  “ legitimate  short  lines”; 
that  single  lines  of  four  or  five,  or  six  or  seven  syllables, 
instead  of  ten,  are  in  the  intentional  scheme  of  Shake- 
speare’s verse.  If  so,  Shakespeare  was  even  freer  with 
his  medium  than  is  ordinarily  believed. 

As  with  the  word  “preparation”  already  cited,  so  there 
are  many  instances  when  a word  must  be  contracted  or 
lengthened,  or  its  natural  accent  thrown  forward  or  back- 
ward to  fit  the  meter.  Here  are  two  where  the  words 
are  lengthened  into  three  syllables : 

/ / / / / 

“The  newest  state.  This  is  the  ser-ge-ant.” 

/ / / / 

“Our  cap-ta-ins,  Macbeth  and  Banquo.” 

In  the  following  the  words  must  be  contracted : 

/ / / / 

“Hover  (hov’r)  through  the  fog  and  filthy  air,” 

/ / / / 

“I  ’ll  be  myself  the  harbinger  (harbing’r)  and  make 
/ 

happy.” 

/ / / / / 

“Of  horrid  hell  can  come  a devil  (dev’l)  more  damned.” 

For  the  same  reason  of  meter  the  natural  accent  is  changed 
in  the  following : 

/ / / / / 

“Or  memorize  another  Golgotha,” 

s ' s / / 

“Till  Birnam  wood  to  high  Dunsinane  hill.” 

139 


Appendix. 


In  such  lines  as 

y y y / / 

“ Contending  ’gainst  obedience,  as  they  would  make,” 
and 

/ y y y. 

“So  they  doubly  redoubled  strokes  upon  the  foe,” 

there  is  much  slurring  to  be  done  with  nimble  tongue  to 
make  the  lines  smooth  pentameters.  But  just  such  ad- 
justments of  our  voices  to  our  ears  that  hear  inwardly 
the  beating  of  rhythm  of  the  measure  are  what  we  are 
thinking  of  when  we  say  that  Shakespeare  and  the  Bible 
are  the  two  best  tests  of  good  reading. 

But  would  Shakespeare  invariably  bind  himself  to  the 
pentameter,  or  would  his  instinct  demand  now  and  then 
another  meter  for  some  definite  artistic  purpose?  The 
first  scene  of  the  first  act  he  has  plainly  written  with 
only  four  accents  in  a line ; so  has  he  written  the  third 
scene;  and  so  the  fifth  scene  of  the  third  act,  and  the 
first  part  of  Act  IV,  Scene  i.  Moreover,  the  accent 
is  decidedly  changed  — thrown  back  to  the  first  syllable 

of  each  foot,  as  — 

/ y y y 

“Thrice  the  brinded  cat  hath  mewed,” 

making  the  line  trochaic  tetrameter,  instead  of  iambic 
pentameter.  The  whole  point  is,  who  is  speaking  ? 
Witches,  supernatural  beings,  “on  the  earth  but  not  of 
it,”  therefore  speaking  a language  of  their  own,  to  a 
rhythm  of  their  own.  The  rhythm  they  choose  is  in  con- 
trast to  the  dignified  pentameter,  natural  to  their  per- 
verted minds  agog  over  some  mischief ; and  in  the  dance 
around  the  cauldron  it  suggests  the  very  vibration  of  the 

140 


apparitio 
ately  of  a 
and  it  is  a 
fifth  scene 
in  iambic 
over/’  or  SI 
idea  that  the 
from  them,  me 
the  four  beat 
a question. 

The  most  inij 
however,  is  the 
in  prose.  Thesel 
first  change  to 
Scene  v,  and  it 
posed  in  prose,  e 
in  a moment  snatch! 
hard  fighting. 

The  next  is  the 
a drunken  porter 
in  rhythm  from  th 
porter  not  so  much  talB 
modic  phrases,  as 
the  courtyard.  But 
anxious  here  to  let 
pitch  of  agony  in 
knocking,  I would 
of  emotion  that 
for  a befuddled 
fuddled  prose  that 
side  world  again  ? 


take  it, 
— but  we 
1 relief,  — 
It  is  one  of 
ad  through 
he  made  his 
is  a lofty  reli- 
ose  keys  calls 


past  and  gone, 


{Knocking) 
re,  whoe’er  it  be, 
song. 

her  in  the  day ; 
ray,— 

thanks  be  swelling 
elling, 
wers 


eir  gaze. 

duff  and  Ross.)  ” 


Verse  and  Prose. 


Merely  to  read  it  shows  us  Shakespeare’s  sure  instinct 
as  to  “what  not  to  do.” 

But  prose  is  not  always  a fall  — it  has  its  lofty  moments 
as  well  as  verse.  So  in  the  sleepwalking  scene,  in  Act  V, 
we  find  the  waiting  woman  and  the  doctor  talking  — 
whispering — ' in  prose.  Is  not  “whispering”  the  whole 
reason  for  their  prose,  as  “asleep  and  dreaming”  is  the 
whole  reason  for  Lady  Macbeth’s?  There  is  an  atmos- 
phere of  human  intimacy  here  in  the  prose  that  gives  the 
perfect  dramatic  effect  to  the  scene.  Some  critics  have 
thought  that  the  whole  scene  is  really  blank  verse,  can 
be  scanned  as  such,  and  should  be  printed  so.  Read  it 
as  such,  and  judge  for  yourself,  if  you  can  keep  the 
whispered  intensity  as  strong. 

Hudson’s  note  on  this  prose  and  the  change  at  the  end 
of  the  scene  into  the  blank  verse  of  the  doctor’s  speech 
is  most  appreciative  of  what  we  all  feel:  “I  suspect  that 
the  matter  of  this  scene  is  too  sublime,  too  austerely  grand, 
to  admit  of  anything  so  artificial  as  the  measured  lan- 
guage of  verse ; and  that  the  Poet,  as  from  an  instinct  of 
genius,  felt  that  any  attempt  to  heighten  the  effect  by 
any  arts  of  delivery  would  impair  it.  The  very  diction 
of  the  closing  speech,  nobly  poetical  as  it  is,  must  be 
felt  by  every  competent  reader  as  a letting  down  to  a 
lower  intellectual  plane.  Is  prose  then,  after  all,  a 
higher  style  of  speech  than  verse?  There  are  parts  of 
the  New  Testament  which  no  possible  arts  of  versifica- 
tion could  fail  to  enfeeble.”  Nor  could  we  feel  any- 
thing but  utter  fitness  in  the  natural  prose  of  the  light 
prattle  of  Macduff’s  boy  with  his  mother.  What  stu- 
pidity it  would  have  been  to  have  allowed  this  child  of 

I43 


Appendix. 


ten  years  to  talk  in  a carefully  measured  ten-syllable 
line ! 

Shakespeare  writes  his  plays  in  blank  verse,  yes  — 
but  he  knows  when  not  to.  When  supernatural  beings 
speak,  when  a drunken  porter  mumbles,  when  a gay- 
hearted  little  boy  chatters,  when  an  anxious  doctor  and 
maid  “ stand  close”  and  whisper  as  they  watch  an  over- 
strained soul  off  guard,  and  when  that  suffering  soul 
dreams  aloud  — are  these  not  times  for  something  really 
different  from  the  measured  beat,  wonderful  as  that  may 
be  in  its  adaptability  to  every  emotion  ? 


*44 


COMMENTS  UPON  THE  PLAY  AND  THE  CHARACTERS 

The  books  and  essays  written  about  Shakespeare  fax 
exceed  what  he  himself  wrote;  and  they  are  by  no  means 
yet  ended,  — each  year  sees  a new  one.  In  all  of  these 
much  time  is  given  to  discussions  of  “ Macbeth,”  for,  next 
to  “ Hamlet,”  it  has  held  the  attention  of  the  world.  In 
Dr.  Furness’s  “ Variorum  Edition  erf  Macbeth  ” there  are 
criticisms  quoted  as  far  back  as  Samuel  Johnson’s,  and 
as  recent  as  those  of  our  own  Shakespeare  scholars,  — 
Hudson,  Rolfe,  Sherman,  White,  and  a host  of  others. 
These  cover  some  hundred  and  fifty  pages;  and  every 
one  of  them  is  stimulating,  and  many  are  wonderful 
pieces  of  writing  in  themselves.  Here  it  is  possible  to 
quote  only  a few,  chosen  to  throw  different  lights  upon 
the  play. 

“ ‘ Macbeth’  seems  inspired  by  the  very  genius  of  the 
tempest.  This  drama  shows  us  the  gathering,  the  dis- 
charge, and  the  dispelling  of  a domestic  and  political  storm, 
takes  its  peculiar  hue  Lorn  the  individual  character  of 
the  hero.  It  is  not  in  the  spirit  of  mischief  that  animates 
the  ‘ weird  sisters,’  nor  in  the  passionate  and  strong- 
willed  ambition  of  Lady  Macbeth,  that  we  find  the  main- 
spring of  this  tragedy,  but  in  the  disproportioned  though 
poetically  tempered  soul  of  Macbeth  himself. 

“ A character  like  his,  of  extreme  selfishness,  with  a most 
irritable  fancy,  must  produce,  even  in  ordinary  circum- 
stances, an  excess  of  morbid  apprehensiveness;  which, 
however,  as  we  see  in  him,  is  not  inconsistent  with  the 

i4S  * 


Appendix. 


greatest  physical  courage,  but  generates  of  necessity  the 
most  entire  moral  cowardice.  When,  therefore,  a man 
like  this,  ill  enough  qualified  even  for  the  honest  and 
straightforward  transactions  of  life,  has  brought  himself 
to  snatch  at  an  ambitious  object  by  the  commission  of 
one  great  sanguinary  crime,  the  new  and  false  position 
in  which  he  finds  himself  by  his  very  success  will  but 
startle  and  exasperate  him  to  escape,  as  Macbeth  says, 
from  ‘horrible  imaginings’  by  the  perpetration  of  greater 
and  greater  actual  horrors,  till  inevitable  destruction 
comes  upon  him  amidst  universal  execration. 

“Such,  briefly,  are  the  story  and  moral  of  ‘Macbeth.’ 
The  passionate  ambition  and  indomitable  will  of  his  lady, 
through  agents  indispensable  to  urge  such  a man  to  the 
one  decisive  act  which  is  to  compromise  him  in  his  own 
opinion  and  that  of  the  world,  are  by  no  means  primary 
springs  of  the  dramatic  action.  Nor  do  the  ‘ weird  sisters’ 
themselves  do  more  than  aid  collaterally  in  impelling  a 
man,  the  inherent  evil  of  whose  nature  and  purpose  has 
predisposed  him  to  take  their  equivocal  suggestions  in 
the  most  mischievous  sense.  And,  finally,  the  very 
thunder-cloud  which,  from  the  beginning  almost  to  the 
ending,  wraps  this  fearful  tragedy  in  physical  darkness 
and  lurid  glare,  does  but  reflect  and  harmonize  with  the 
moral  blackness  of  the  piece.” 

— Fletcher,  “Studies  of  Shakespeare.” 

“ Beside  the  main  subject  of  the  midnight  murder  of  a 
King  sleeping  in  the  house  of  one  of  his  nobles,  and  sur- 
rounded by  his  guards,  the  death  and  appearance  of  the 
ghost  of  Banquo,  and  the  whole  machinery  and  prophecy 

146 


Play  and  Characters. 


of  the  wayward  sisters,  with  the  interior  view  of  a castle 
in  which  is  a conscience-stricken  Monarch  reduced  to 
the  extremity  of  a siege,  the  Poet  seems  to  have  intended 
to  concentrate  in  this  play  many  of  the  more  thrilling 
incidents  o£  physical  and  metaphysical  action.  The 
midnight  shriek  of  women ; sleep,  with  its  stranger  acci- 
dents, such  as  laughing,  talking,  walking,  as  produced 
by  potions,  as  disturbed  by  dreams,  as  full  of  wicked 
thoughts;  the  hard  beating  of  the  heart;  the  parched 
state  of  the  mouth  in  an  hour  of  desperate  guilt ; the  rous- 
ing of  the  hair  at  a dismal  treatise ; physiognomy ; men  of 
manly  hearts  moved  to  tears ; the  wild  thoughts  which 
haunt  the  mind  of  guilt,  as  in  the  air-drawn  dagger,  and  the 
fancy  that  sleep  was  slain  and  the  slayer  should  know  its 
comforts  no  more ; death  in  some  of  its  stranger  varieties, 
— the  soldier  dying  of  wounds  not  bound  up,  the  spent 
swimmer,  the  pilot  wrecked  on  his  way  home,  the  horrible 
mode  of  Macdonwalc(’s  death,  the  massacre  of  a mother 
and  her  children,  the,  hired  assassins  perpetrating  their 
work  on  the  belated  travellers,  — these  are  but  a portion 
of  the  terrible  circumstances  attendant  on  the  main  events 
of  this  tragic  tale. 

“ He  goes  for  similar  circumstances  to  the  elements,  and 
to  the  habits  of  animals  about  which  superstitions  had 
gathered,  — the  flitting  of  the  bat,  the  flight  of  the  crow 
to  the  rooky  wood,  the  flights  of  the  owl  and  the  falcon, 
and  of  the  owl  and  the  wren,  the  scream  of  the  owl,  the 
chirping  of  the  cricket,  the  croak  of  the  prophetic  raven, 
and  bark  of  the  wolf,  the  horses  devouring  one  another, 
the  pitchy  darkness  of  night,  the  murky  darkness  of  a 
lurid  day,  a storm  rattling  in  the  battlements  of  an  an- 

147 


Appendix. 


cient  fortress,  — we  have  all  this  before  we  pass  the 
bounds  of  nature  and  enter  the  regions  of  metaphys- 
ical agency. 

“ There  we  have  the  spirits  which  tend/  on  mortal 
thoughts,  the  revelations  by  magot-pies,  thje  moving  of 
stones,  the  speaking  of  trees,  and  lamentings  heard  in 
the  air,  and  almost  the  whole  of  the  mythology  of  the 
wayward  sisters,  — their  withered  and  wild  attire,  their 
intercourse  with  their  Queen,  their  congregating  in  the 
hour  of  storms  on  heaths  which  the  lightning  has  scathed, 
the  strange  instruments  employed  by  them,  the  mode  of 
their  operations,  and  their  compelling  the  world  invisible 
to  disclose  the  secrets  of  futurity.” 

— Hunter,  “New  Illustrations  of  Shakespeare.” 

“‘Macbeth’  can  be  divided  into  two  distinct  worlds, 
which  are  the  threads  of  the  entire  action  — the  supernat- 
ural and  the  natural.  These  terms  are  not  completely  an- 
tithetic, but  they  are  sufficient  to  convey  the  meaning 
which  is  intended  to  be  conveyed.  The  supernatural 
world  is  that  of  the  Weird  Sisters,  who  seem  to  enter  the 
action  from  the  outside  and  direct  its  course.  They  ap- 
pear to  Macbeth  twice;  the  essential  turning-points  of 
his  career  are  thus  marked. 

“ The  first  time  they  incite  him  to  guilt,  the  second  time 
they  lead  him  to  retribution.  . . . The  natural  world 
is  composed  of  two  well-defined  groups.  In  the  first  are 
those  whom  the  Weird  Sisters  determine  — Banquo, 
Macbeth,  and,  less  directly  and  less  strongly,  Lady  Mac- 
beth. They  manifest  a regular  graduation  in  their  rela- 
tions towards  this  external  power;  Banquo  resists  its 

148 


Play  and  Characters. 


temptations  wholly ; Lady  Macbeth  yields  to  them  wholly 
or,  rather,  brings  to  their  aid  her  own  strength  of  will; 
Macbeth  fluctuates  — resisting  at  first,  but  finally  yield- 
ing. These  characters  also  manifest  the  influence  of 
imagination  with  greater  or  less  intensity ; they  have,  in 
particular,  the  double  element  above  mentioned,  for  they 
are  impelled  both  by  external  shapes  and  by  internal 
motives. 

“ The  second  group  of  the  natural  world  comprises  Dun- 
can and  the  remaining  persons  of  the  play  who  do  not 
come  in  contact  with  the  Weird  Sisters,  nor  are  directly 
influenced  by  thtfir  utterances.  But  this  group  is,  for 
the  most  part,  set  in  motion  by  the  first  group  of  the  nat- 
ural world ; both  move  along  together  at  first,  and  then 
collide.  The  external  element  thus  reaches  the  entire 
play ; the  first  impulse  is  given  by  the  Weird  Sisters ; is 
received  by  one  set  of  characters ; through  these  is  trans- 
mitted to  a still  different  set  of  characters,  who  finally 
react,  punish  the  usurper,  and  restore  the  rightful  king. 

“The  first  group,  it  ought  to  be  added,  disintegrates 
within  itself,  for  Banquo  refuses  to  listen  to  the  advances 
of  Macbeth,  seeks  to  avenge  the  murder  of  Duncan,  and 
at  last  is  destroyed  by  his  comrade  in  arms.  . . . Shake- 
speare has  not  introduced  a double  guilt  into  this  drama ; 
hence  the  fate  of  only  one  set  of  characters  is  adequately 
motived.  For  the  death  of  Duncan,  of  Banquo,  and  of  / 
Macduff’s  family,  there  can  be  found  no  justification  from 
their  deeds. 

“Critics  have  sought  to  make  out  a case  against  them,  but 
without  success.  They  have  committed  no  ethical  viola- 
tion worthy  of  death;  they  are  innocent  beings  over- 

149 


Appendix. 


f 

whelmed  in  a catastrophe  from  without ; and  this  is 
deeply  consistent  with  the  form  and  movement  of  the 
play,  which  exhibits  fate,  — external  determination.  The 
Weird  Sisters,  the  instruments  of  destiny,  give  Macbeth 
his  impulse;  he  is  driven  upon  these  guiltless  victims, 
who  fall  because  they  stand  in  the  way  of  a mighty  force. 

A “ Such  is  the  outward  form,  though  it  must  not  be 
thought  that  Macbeth  is  released  from  thte  responsibility 
of  his  act.  The  inner  truth  is  that  these  Shapes  are  him- 
self — his  own  desires,  his  own  ambition.  The  peculiarity 
of  the  present  work  is  that  the  ethical  elements,  usually 
the  most  prominent,  are  withdrawn  int6  the  background 
to  make  room  for  another  principle.  . . . The  main 
interest  is  psychological ; the  activities  of  the  mind  seem 
to  leap  at  once  into  independent  forms  of  the  imagination. 
Although  Macbeth  knows  abstractly  of  his  own  ambition, 
still  his  chief  temptation  seems  to  spring  from  the  phan- 
toms of  the  air;  and,  though  an  external  punishment  is 
brought  to  him,  still  his  retribution  as  well  as  that  of  his 
wife  is  mainly  found  in  the  fantastic  workings  of  the  brain. 
Judging  by  its  language,  its  treatment,  its  theme,  we  may 
call  this  play  the  Tragedy  of  the  Imagination.” 

— Snider,  “ System  of  Shakespeare’s  Dramas.” 

“ In  an  essay  upon  ‘ Macbeth  ’ may  be  found  the  following 
passage  of  criticism,  in  the  sceptical  school  (as  usual), 
relative  to  the  Ghost  of  Banquo:  ‘If  we  believe  in  the 
reality  of  the  Ghost  as  a shape  or  shadow  existent  without 
the  mind  of  Macbeth,  and  not  exclusively  within  it,  we 
shall  have  difficulties  which  may  be  put  under  two 
heads: — Why  did  the  Ghost  come?  Why  did  he  go, 

ISO 


Play  and  Characters. 


on  Macbeth’s  approach,  and  at  his  bidding?  ...  It  is 
clear  from  the  scene  that  Macbeth  drove  it  away,  and  also 
that  he  considered  it  as  much  an  illusion  as  his  wife  would 
fain  have  had  him,  when  she  whispered  about  the  air- 
drawn  dagger,).’  This  piece  of  criticism  is  cited  on  account 
of  its  mode  of  testing  the  question  of  objective  reality. 
With  sceptics,  by  the  way,  very  curiously,  a ghost  is 
always  expected  to  be  thoroughly  reasonable  in  every 
one  of  its  connings  and  goings,  though  uniformly  men 
are  not  so. 

“What,  however,  for  the  present  we  would  earnestly 
request  of  the  sceptic  is,  to  do  with  these  apparently  ab- 
normal things  as  he  would  with  any  branch  of  natural 
science ; that  is,  inquire  as  to  facts.  He  would  then  find 
the  instances  are  indeed  numerous  in  which  persons,  just 
deceased,  appear  to  those  whom  they  have  known  and  then 
quickly  disappear . These  passing  manifestations  also 
occasionally  take  place  when  the  person  appearing  is  not 
either  dead  or  dying ; neither  does  it  follow  necessarily 
that  the  person  seeing,  or,  as  the  sceptic  would  say,  fancy- 
ing that  he  sees,  must  always  be  thinking  of  the  one 
seen.  An  examination  into  the  general  facts  leads  to  the 
conclusion  that  thought  of  the  person  appeared  to,  on 
the  part  of  the  one  appearing,  is  the  cause,  according  to 
certain  laws  of  the  internal  world,  of  the  manifestations, 
which  should  therefore,  it  is  conceived,  be  understood  as 
having  an  objective  reality.  This  theory  and  its  facts 
must  be  considered  in  judging  of  Shakespeare’s  intentions. 
Of  him  we  should  always  think  as  of  the  artist  and  stu- 
dent of  nature,  until  it  can  be  shown  that  he  ever  forgets 
himself  in  those  characters. 

151 


Appendix. 


“ While  treating  upon  this  subject,  let  it  be  observed, 
that  it  is  the  scepticism  as  to  the  objective  reality  of  Ban- 
quo’s  Ghost  which  has  originated  the  Question  as  to 
whether  he  should  be  made  visible  to  the  spectators  in 
the  theatre,  since,  as  the  sceptics  observe,  he  is  invisible 
to  all  the  assembled  guests,  and  does  not  speak  at  all. 
But  for  this  scepticism,  it  would  never  have  been  doubted 
that  the  Ghost  should  be  made  visible  to  the  theatre, 
although  he  is  invisible  to  Macbeth’s  cqmpany,  and  al- 
though no  words  are  assigned  to  him.  This  doubt  exist- 
ing, illustrates  to  us  how  stage-management  itself  is  af- 
fected by  the  philosophy  which  may  prevail  upon  certain 
subjects.  Upon  the  Spiritualist  view,  Banquo’s  Ghost, 
and  the  Witches  themselves,  are  all  in  the  same  category, 
all  belonging  to  the  spiritual  world,  and  seen  by  the  spirit- 
ual eye ; and  the  mere  fact  that  the  Ghost  does  not  speak, 
is  felt  to  have  no  bearing  at  all  upon  the  question  of  his 
presentation  as  an  objective  reality.” 

— Roffe, 

“An  Essay  upon  the  Ghost  Belief  of  Shakespeare.” 

“As  regards  wealth  of  thought,  ‘ Macbeth  ’ ranks  far 
below  ‘ Hamlet  ’ ; it  lacks  the  wide,  free,  historic  perfection 
which  in  ‘ Julius  Caesar  ’ raises  us  above  the  horror  of 
his  tragic  fall.  It  cannot  be  compared  with  ‘ Othello’ 
for  completeness,  depth  of  plot,  or  full,  rich  illustration 
of  character.  But,  in  our  opinion,  it  excels  all  that 
Shakespeare,  or  any  other  poet,  has  created,  in  the  simple 
force  of  the  harmonious,  majestic  current  of  its  action, 
in  the  transparency  of  its  plan,  in  the  nervous  power 
and  bold  sweep  of  its  language,  and  in  its  prodigal 

JS2 


Play  and  Characters. 


wealth  of  poetical  coloring.  He  who,  to  illustrate  this 
last  particular,  should  attempt  to  make  a collection  of 
the  striking  passages  of  this  wonderful  poem,  would  be 
tempted  to  transcribe  page  after  page.  He  would 
hardly  find  himself  under  any  necessity  of  making  selec- 
tions where  all  £s  so  fine. 

“ With  especial  mastery  the  Poet  employs  the  colors  of 
nature  and  of  place  to  heighten  at  critical  points  the  in- 
terest of  the  action.  It  is  here,  if  anywhere,  that  we  may 
test  the  correctness  of  the  idea  that,  for  the  true  poet, 
nature  is  of  interest  only  as  an  element  in  which  man 
lives  and  moves.  Shakespeare  employs  her  various  as- 
pects in  a two-fold  manner,  and  with  equally  excellent 
effect  in  his  tragic  scenes.  First,  as  an  antithesis,  or 
contrasting  background  for  human  action,  and,  secondly, 
symbolically,  as  a magic  mirror,  reflecting  the  appear- 
ance of  the  moral  world  in  imaginative,  ominous  indefi- 
niteness. Both  kinds'  of  representation  abound  in 
‘Macbeth.’  ”... 

— F.  Kreyssig,  “Vorlesungen  liber  Shakespeare.” 

“ The  element  of  poetic  justice  is  not  absent  from  Shake- 
speare’s representation  of  life  any  more  than  it  is  from 
life  itself.  But  in  both  it  at  times  never  appears  at  all ; 
in  both  it  acts  imperfectly  when  it  does  appear.  In  ‘ Mac- 
beth ’ the  punishment  falls  upon  the  guilty  husband  and 
the  guilty  wife.  But  that,  after  all,  is  a matter  of  sub- 
sidiary consequence ; as  an  end  in  view  it  scarcely  plays 
any  part  in  the  development  of  the  drama.  It  is  the  grad- 
ual transforming  power  of  sin,  when  once  it  has  taken  full 
possession  of  the  soul,  which  here  arrests  the  attention. 

153 


Appendix. 


It  is  the  different  character  of  the  devastation  wrought 
by  it  in  different  natures  which  furnishes  a study  as  full 
of  psychological  interest  as  it  is  of  dramatic. 

“ Macbeth,  at  the  opening  of  the  play,  the  valiant  gen- 
eral, the  loyal  subject,  promises  even  then,  though  un- 
fixed in  principle,  to  end  his  career  as  honourably  as  it 
has  begun.  His  wife  it  is  who  at  the  outset  is  the  domi- 
nant character.  In  her  dauntless  hard’hood  she  gives 
courage  and  strength  to  her  husband’s  infirm  purpose, 
which,  while  longing  for  the  fruits  of  crime,  shrinks  from 
its  commission.  But  before  the  play  approaches  its  con- 
clusion, the  positions  of  the  two  have  been  reversed.  The 
gallant  soldier  of  the  early  part  has  become  a cruel  tyrant, 
as  inaccessible  to  remorse  as  he  is  io  pity.  The  man, 
who  at  his  first  entrance  into  crime  was  horrified  by  the 
phantoms  of  his  own  disordered  brain,  comes  to  encounter 
recklessly  and  defy  undauntedly  the  terrors  of  the  visible 
and  invisible  worlds.  The  moral  nature  has  become  an 
absolute  wreck.  But  with  the  hardening  of  the  heart 
and  the  deadening  of  the  conscience  have  disappeared 
entirely  the  compunctions  which  once  unnerved  the  reso- 
lution and  the  tremors  which  shook  the  soul. 

“ Not  so  with  Lady  Macbeth.  Her  nature,  far  finer  and 
higher  strung,  though  at  the  beginning  more  resolute, 
pays  at  last  in  remorseful  days  and  sleepless  nights  the 
full  penalty  of  violated  law.  While  Macbeth  grows 
stronger  as  a man  by  the  very  course  which  destroys  his 
susceptibility  to  moral  considerations,  this  very  suscepti- 
bility on  her  part  increases  with  the  success  of  the 
deed  she  has  prompted.” 

— Lounsbury,  “ Shakespeare  as  a Dramatic  Artist.” 

iS4 


FAMILIAR  PASSAGES 


1.  When  shall  we  three  meet  again 
In  thunder,  lightning,  or  in  rain  ? 

2.  Fair  is  foul,  and  foul  is  fair : 

Hover  through  the  fog  and  filthy  air. 

3.  Shall  he  dwindle,  peak  and  pine. 

4.  A drum,  a drum ! 
Macbeth  doth  come. 

5.  To  the  selfsame  tune  and  words. 

6.  What,  can  the  devil  speak  true? 

7.  And  oftentimes,  to  win  us  to  our  harm, 

The  instruments  of  darkness  tell  us  truths, 

Win  us  with  honest  trifles,  to  betray ’s 

In  deepest  consequence. 

8.  Present  fears 
Are  less  than  horrible  imaginings. 

9.  , Come  what  come  may, 

Time  and  the  hour  runs  through  the  roughest  day0 

10.  Nothing  in  his  life 

Became  him  like  the  leaving  it ; he  died 
As  one  that  had  been  studied  in  his  death 
To  throw  away  the  dearest  thing  he  owed, 

As ’t  were  a careless  trifle, 
jn.  There ’s  no  art 

To  find  the  mind’s  construction  in  the  face. 

12.  The  rest  is  labor,  which  is  not  used  for  you. 

13.  O,  never 
Shall  sun  that  morrow  see ! 

155 


Appendix. 


i4-  Only  look  up  dear ; 

To  alter  favor  ever  is  to  fear. 

15.  The  love  that  follows  us  sometime  is  our  trouble, 
Which  still  we  thank  as  love. 

16.  If  it  were  done  when ’t  is  done,  then  ’t  were  well 
It  were  done  quickly. 

17.  I have  no  spur 
To  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent,  but  only 
Vaulting  ambition,  which  o’erleaps  itself 
And  falls  on  the  other. 

18.  Letting  ‘I  dare  not’  wait  upon  ‘I  would,’ 

Like  the  poor  cat  i’  the  adage? 

19.  I dare  do  all  that  may  become  a man. 

20.  But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking-place. 

21.  False  face  must  hide  what  the  false  heart  doth  know. 

22.  Words  to  the  heat  of  deeds  too  cold  breath  gives. 

23.  The  attempt  and  not  the  deed 
Confounds  us. 

24.  Methought  I heard  a voice  cry  ‘ Sleep  no  more ! ’ 

25.  The  sleeping  and  the  dead 
Are  but  as  pictures. 

26.  The  labor  we  delight  in  physics  pain. 

27.  Had  I but  died  an  hour  before  this  chance, 

I had  lived  a blessed  time. 

28.  Who  could  refrain 
That  had  a heart  to  love,  and  in  that  heart 
Courage  to  make  ’s  love  known  ? 

29.  To  show  an  unfelt  sorrow  is  an  office 
Which  the  false  man  does  easy. 

30.  There ’s  daggers  in  men’s  smiles. 

31.  Resolve  yourselves  apart. 


Familiar  Passages. 


32.  Nought ’s  had,  all ’s  spent, 
Where  our  desire  is  got  without  content : 

^lJT  is  safer  to  be  that  which  we  destroy 
Than  by  destruction  dwell  in  doubtful  joy. 

33.  Things  without  all  remedy 
Should  be  without  regard : what ’s  done  is  done. 

34.  Better  be  with  the  dead, 

Whom  we,  to  gain  our  peace,  have  sent  to  peace, 
Than  on  the  torture  of  the  mind  to  lie 

In  restless  ecstasy. 

35.  After  life’s  fitful  fever  he  sleeps  well. 

36.  Gentle,  my  lord,  sleek  o’er  your  rugged  looks. 

37.  A deed  of  dreadful  note. 

38.  Good  things  of  day  begin  to  droop  and  drowse ; 
While  night’s  black  agents  to  their  preys  do  rouse. 

39.  Whole  as  the  marble,  founded  as  the  rock. 

40.  But  now  I am  cabined,  cribbed,  confined,  bound  in 
To  saucy  doubts  and  fears. 

41.  The  feast  is  sold 
That  is  not  often  vouched,  while ’t  is  a-making, 

’T  is  given  with  welcome : to  feed  were  best  at 
home ; 

From  thence  the  sauce  to  meat  is  ceremony: 
Meeting  were  bare  without  it. 

42.  Now,  good  digestion  wait  on  appetite, 

And  health  on  both  ! 

43.  This  is  the  very  painting  of  your  fear. 

44.  Stand  not  upon  the  order  of  your  going, 

But  go  at  once. 

45.  What  is  the  night? 

Almost  at  odds  with  morning,  which  is  which. 

157 


Appendix. 


46.  Strange  things  I have  in  head,  that  will  to  hand ; 
Which  must  be  acted  ere  they  may  be  scanned. 

47.  You  lack  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep. 

48.  He  shall  spurn  fate,  scorn  death,  and  bear 
His  hopes  ’bove  wisdom,  grace  and  fear : 

And  you  all  know,  security 

Is  mortals’  chiefest  enemy. 

49.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble; 

Fire  burn,  and  cauldron  bubble. 

50.  By  the  pricking  of  my  thumbs, 
Something  wicked  this  way  comes. 

51.  Macbeth  shall  never  vanquished  be  until 
Great  Birnam  wood  to  high  Dunsinane  hill 
Shall  come  against  him. 

52.  What,  will  the  line  stretch  out  to  the  crack  of 
doom? 

53.  The  flighty  purpose  never  is  o’ertook 
Unless  the  deed  go  with  it. 

54.  This  deed  I ’ll  do  before  this  purpose  cool. 

55.  When  our  actions  do  not, 
Our  fears  do  make  us  traitors. 

56.  Things  at  the  worst  will  cease,  or  else  climb  upward 
To  what  they  were  before. 

57.  I have  done  no  harm.  But  I remember  now 

I am  in  this  earthly  world ; where  to  do  harm 
Is  often  laudable,  to  do  good  sometime 
Accounted  dangerous  folly : why  then,  alas, 

Do  I put  up  that  womanly  defense, 

To  say  I have  done  no  harm  ? 

58.  Angels  are  bright  still,  though  the  brightest 
fell. 


158 


Familiar  Passages. 


59.  And  my  more-having  would  be  as  a sauce 
To  make  me  hunger  more. 

60.  The  king-becoming  graces, 

As  justice,  verity,  temperance,  stableness, 

Bounty,  perseverance,  mercy,  lowliness, 

Devotion,  patience,  courage,  fortitude. 

61.  Such  welcome  and  unwelcome  things  at  once 
’T  is  hard  to  reconcile. 

62.  I cannot  but  remember  such  things  were, 

That  were  most  precious  to  me. 

63.  Our  lack  is  nothing  but  our  leave. 

64.  The  night  is  long  that  never  finds  the  day. 

65.  Out,  damned  spot ! out,  I say ! 

66.  More  needs  she  the  divine  than  the  physician. 

God,  God  forgive  us  all ! 

67.  Those  he  commands  move  only  in  command, 
Nothing  in  love. 

68.  I have  lived  long  enough  : my  way  of  life 
Is  fallen  into  the  sear,  the  yellow  leaf ; 

And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age, 

As  honor,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 

I must  not  look  to  have ; but,  in  their  stead, 
Curses,  not  loud  but  deep,  mouth-honor,  breath, 
Which  the  poor  heart  would  fain  deny,  and  dare 

not. 

69.  Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a mind  diseased, 

Pluck  from  the  memory  a rooted  sorrow, 

Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain 
And  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote 
Cleanse  the  stuffed  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart  ? 

159 


Appendix. 


70.  I have  supped  full  with  horrors ; 
Direness,  familiar  to  my  slaughterous  thoughts, 
Cannot  once  start  me. 

71.  To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 
Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day 
To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time, 

And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 
The  way  to  dusty  death.  Out,  out,  brief  candle 
Life ’s  but  a walking  shadow,  a poor  player 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage 
And  then  is  heard  no  more : it  is  a tale 
Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 
Signifying  nothing. 

72.  I pull  in  resolution. 

73.  I gin  to  be  aweary  of  the  sun. 

74.  Blow,  wind  ! come,  wrack  ! 
At  least  we’ll  die  with  harness  on  our  back. 

75.  Why  should  I play  the  Roman  fool,  and  die 
On  mine  own  sword  ? 

76.  That  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  our  ear, 

And  break  it  to  our  hope. 


160 


WHAT  WE  KNOW  ABOUT  SHAKESPEARE 


The  facts  that  we  know  with  absolute  certainty  about 
William  Shakespeare  can  be  given  in  a few  meagre  para- 
graphs. Some  bare,  prosaic  records  in  Strat- 
ford  and  in  the  Stationers’  Register  in  Lon-  known 
don,  a few  signatures,  a will,  a deed  or  two,  about 
an  application  for  a coat-of-arms,  an  occasional  shake~ 

1 1 spcctro 

mention  of  his  name  in  court  proceedings,  in 
lists  of  actors,  and  in  the  works  of  fellow  authors,  — this 
is  about  all  we  have  as  the  basis  for  a life  of  one  of  the 
greatest  men  that  the  world  has  produced.  Traditions 
and  quaint  fanciful  stories  exist,  as  we  might  expect,  in 
infinite  number  and  variety.  Many  of  these  date  back  to 
the  poet’s  own  time,  and  therefore  may  have  in  them  at 
least  an  element  of  truth.  By  far  the  greater  number, 
however,  gained  popularity  nearly  a century  after  his 
death,  when  the  curiosity  of  an  age  intensely  interested  in 
the  drama  began  to  look  back  and  talk  about  the  most 
marvellous  of  all  the  makers  of  plays.  Few  of  these  later 
traditions  can  be  relied  upon.  Yet  from  the  few  scrappy 
facts  that  we  have,  supplemented  by  the  earlier  legends, 
and  above  all  by  a study  of  the  plays  themselves,  it  is 
possible  to  make  a story  of  the  poet’s  life,  which,  though 
by  no  means  complete,  is  full  enough  to  give  us  a fairly 
clear  understanding  of  his  growth  in  fame  and  business 
prosperity,  and  his  development  as  a dramatist. 

It  is  not  strange  that  we  know  so  little  about  Shake- 
speare. His  age  was  not  one  of  biographical  writing. 
To-day  a man  of  not  one  tenth  part  of  his  genius  is  be- 
sought by  reporters  for  interviews  concerning  his  life  ; 

161 


Appendix. 


Why  we 
know  so 
little  about 
Shake- 
speare. 


he  is  persuaded  by  admiring  friends  to  write  his  mem- 
oirs ; as  his  end  approaches,  every  important  newspaper 
in  the  land  has  an  article  of  several  columns 
ready  to  print  the  instant  that  word  of  his  death 
comes  over  the  wire.  Three  hundred  and  fifty 
years  ago  nothing  of  this  kind  was  possible. 
Newspapers  and  magazines,  genealogies  and 
contemporary  history  did  not  exist.  Encyclopaedias,  dic- 
tionaries of  names,  directories,  “blue-books,”  and  volumes 
of  “ Who’s  Who  ” had  not  been  dreamed  of.  Personal  cor- 
respondence was  meagre,  and  what  few  letters  were  written 
seldom  were  preserved.  Above  all,  a taste  for  reading  the 
lives  of  men  had  not  been  formed.  In  fact,  it  was  not  until 
fifty  years  after  Shakespeare’s  time  that  the  art  of  biograph- 
ical writing  in  England  was  really  born.  When  we  remem- 
ber, in  addition  to  these  facts,  that  actors  and  playwrights 
then  held  a distinctly  inferior  position  in  society,  and  by 
the  growing  body  of  Puritans  were  looked  upon  with  con- 
tempt and  extreme  disfavor,  it  is  not  surprising  that  no 
special  heed  was  paid  to  the  life  of  Shakespeare.  On  the 
contrary,  it  is  astonishing  that  we  know  as  much  as  we  do 
about  him,  — fully  as  much  as  we  know  about  most  of  the 
writers  of  his  time,  and  even  of  many  who  lived  much 
later. 

In  the  records  of  the  16th  century  there  are  numer- 
ous references  to  Shakespeares  living  in  the  midland 
The  poet’s  counties  of  England,  especially  in  Warwick- 
father.John  shire.  For  the  most  part,  they  seem  to  have 
Shake-  been  substantial  yeomen  and  plain  farmers  of 
speare.  sound  practical  sense  rather  than  men  of  learn- 
ing or  culture.  Some  of  them  owned  land  and  prospered. 
Such  a one  was  John  Shakespeare,  who  moved  to  Strat- 

162 


Shakespeare’s  Life. 


ford-on- Avon  about  1550  and  became  a dealer  in  malt  and 
corn,  meat,  wool,  and  leather.  He  is  referred  to  some' 
times  as  a glover  and  a butcher.  Probably  he  was  both, 
and  dealt  besides  in  all  the  staples  that  farmers  about  the 
village  produced  and  brought  to  market  to  sell.  The  fact 
that  he  could  not  write,  which  was  nothing  unusual  among 
men  of  his  station  in  the  16th  century,  did  not  prevent  his 
prospering  in  business.  For  more  than  twenty  years  after 
the  earliest  mention  of  his  name  in  the  Stratford  records, 
he  is  spoken  of  frequently  and  always  in  a way  to  show  us 
that  his  financial  standing  in  the  community  was  steadily 
increasing.  He  seems  also  to  have  been  a man  of  affairs. 
From  one  office  to  another  he  rose  until  in  1568  he 
held  the  position  of  High  Bailiff,  or  Mayor  of  Stratford. 
Eleven  years  earlier  his  fortunes  had  been  increased  by 
his  marriage  to  Mary  Arden,  the  daughter  of  a prosperous 
farmer  of  the  neighboring  village  of  Wilmcote,  who  be- 
queathed to  his  daughter  a house,  with  fifty  acres  of  land, 
and  a considerable  sum  of  money.  It  is  not  fair,  there- 
fore, to  speak  of  the  father  of  William  Shakespeare,  as 
some  have  done,  as  “ an  uneducated  peasant,’’  or  as  “a 
provincial  shopkeeper.”  At  the  time  of  the  birth  of  his 
illustrious  son  he  was  one  of  the  most  prominent  men  in 
Stratford,  decidedly  well-to-do,  respected  and  trusted  by  all. 

The  year  before  John  Shakespeare  brought  his  bride 

from  Wilmcote  to  Stratford-on-Avon,  he  had  purchased 

a house  in  Henley  Street,  and  there  he  and  , 

1 • 1.  . J , . . , .1  . The  house 

his  wife  were  living  when  their  children  were  Which 

born.  It  was  a cottage  two  stories  high,  with  Shake- 

dormer  windows,  and  of  timber  and  plaster  speare  was 

construction.  Though  frequently  repaired  and 

built  over  during  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  years  that 

163 


Appendix. 


have  passed,  it  still  remains  in  general  appearance  much 
the  same  as  it  looked  in  1556.  Simple,  crude,  plain,  — it 
is  nevertheless  the  most  famous  house  in  England,  if  not 
in  the  world.  Noted  men  and  women  from  all  parts  of 
the  earth  have  visited  Stratford  to  see  it.  Essays,  stories, 
and  poems  have  been  written  about  it.  Preserved  in  the 
care  of  the  Memorial  Society,  it  is  the  shrine  of  the  liter- 
ary pilgrim  and  the  Mecca  of  tourists  who  flock  during 
the  summer  to  the  quaint  old  village  on  the  Avon.  For 
here,  in  a small  bare  room  on  the  second  floor,  William 
Shakespeare  was  born. 

How  little  we  know  of  Shakespeare,  compared  with 

even  a minor  poet  of  the  19th  century,  is  shown  by  the 

■n  * * 4,-u  fact  that  we  are  not  certain  of  the  exact  date 

Date  01  the 

poet’s  birth,  on  which  the  greatest  of  all  poets  was  born. 
April  23,  The  records  of  Holy  Trinity  Church  in  Strat- 
ford  show  that  the  child  was  baptized  on  April 
26,  1564,  and  since  it  was  the  custom  at  that  time  for  the 
baptism  of  children  to  take  place  on  the  third  day  after 
birth,  it  has  been  generally  agreed  that  William  was  born 
on  April  23,  and  that  date  is  celebrated  as  his  birthday. 
Tradition  tells  us,  and  probably  truthfully,  that  it  was  also 
on  this  date,  April  23,  in  1616,  that  he  died. 

Of  the  poet’s  boyhood  we  know  next  to  nothing.  It  is 
a mistake,  however,  to  assume  that  he  lacked  educational 
opportunities.  There  was  in  Stratford  an  ex- 
cellent free  Grammar  School  such  as  a bailiff’s 
son  would  attend,  and  to  which  it  is  reasonable 
to  suppose  that  the  boy  was  sent.  Here  he 
studied  chiefly  Latin,  for  education  then  in 
England  consisted  almost  entirely  of  the 
classics,  especially  Vergil,  Ovid,  Horace,  and  the  comedies 


Shake- 
speare’s 
boyhood 
and  school- 
ing, 1571- 
1577. 


Shakespeare’s  House  at  Stratford-on-Avon 


The  Room  where  Shakespeare  was  Born 


K 


I 


Shakespeare’s  Life. 


of  Plautus  and  Terence.  The  comment  of  Ben  Jonson, 
his  fellow  dramatist  of  later  years,  that  Shakespeare  had 
“ small  Latin  and  less  Greek,”  should  not  be  taken  too 
literally.  Compared  with  the  profound  scholarship  of  a 
college-trained  man  like  Jonson,  the  Stratford  boy  had,  to 
be  sure,  but  little  knowledge  of  the  classics.  Yet  there  is 
every  evidence  to  show  that  he  understood  both  Latin 
and  French  pretty  well,  and  that  he  knew  the  Bible  thor- 
oughly. It  is  clear,  too,  that  by  nature  he  was  a boy  of 
remarkable  powers  of  observation  and  keenly  retentive 
memory,  who  used  every  opportunity  about  him  for  ac- 
quiring information  and  ideas.  Whether  he  went  to 
school  or  not  would  have  made  but  little  difference  to  one 
whose  mind  possessed  rare  powers  of  developing  and 
training  itself.  Like  Burns  and  Lincoln,  he  was  educated 
more  by  people  and  the  world  of  Nature  about  him  than 
by  books  and  formal  teaching. 

Ordinarily  a boy  of  the  16th  century  would  remain  at 
the  Grammar  School  from  seven  to  fourteen,  but  there  is 
a well-founded  tradition  that  Shakespeare  left  Five  yeara 
in  1577,  when  he  was  thirteen  years  old,  and  in  Stratford 
never  attended  school  again.  About  this  time  after  leav- 
the  records  show  that  his  father’s  financial  dif- 

1577-1582. 

ficulties  began.  Another  pair  of  hands  was 
needed  at  home  to  help  in  the  support  of  the  family,  and 
William  was  the  oldest  son.  Just  how  he  was  occupied, 
however,  between  his  fourteenth  and  eighteenth  years  we 
cannot  say.  Probably  he  assisted  his  father  in  his  declin- 
ing business.  One  of  the  bits  of  Stratford  gossip,  collected 
by  the  antiquarian  Aubrey,  states  that  he  was  “ in  his 
younger  years  a school-master  in  the  country,”  and  another 
tells  us  that  “ when  he  was  a boy  he  exercised  his  father’s 

165 


Appendix. 


trade.  When  he  killed  a calf,  he  would  doe  it  in  a high  style 
and  make  a speech.”  It  may  be,  as  another  reference 
seems  to  imply,  that  he  was  employed  in  the  office  of  a 
lawyer.  But  we  must  not  put  too  much  confidence  in  these 
traditions,  which,  like  all  stories  passed  on  by  word  of 
mouth,  grew  and  changed  as  the  years  went  by.  As  much 
as  we  should  like  to  know  of  his  employment,  his  reading, 
and  all  the  circumstances  that  were  developing  his  mind 
and  character  during  these  five  important  years,  we  must 
remember  that  “ there  is  no  reason  why  anything  should 
have  been  recorded ; he  was  an  obscure  boy  living  in  an 
inland  village,  before  the  age  of  newspapers,  and  out  of 
relation  with  people  of  fashion  and  culture.  During  this 
period  as  little  is  known  of  him  as  is  known  of  Cromwell 
during  the  same  period ; as  little,  but  no  less.  This  fact 
gives  no  occasion  either  for  surprise  or  scepticism  as  to 
his  marvellous  genius ; it  was  an  entirely  normal  fact  con- 
cerning boys  growing  up  in  unliterary  times  and  in  rural 
communities.” 1 

The  first  really  authentic  record  we  have  of  Shakespeare 
after  his  school  days  is  that  of  the  baptism  of  his  daughter 
His  mar  Susanna,  on  May  26,  1583.  The  previous  year, 
riageto  when  only  eighteen,  he  had  married  Anne 

Anne  Hath-  Hathaway,  the  daughter  of  a farmer  in  the 
away,  1582.  neighboring  village  of  Shottery.  This  pictur- 
esque hamlet  was  reached  then  from  Stratford,  as  it  is  to- 
day, by  a delightful  foot-path  through  the  wide  and  fertile 
fields  of  Warwickshire.  Perhaps  no  other  spot  connected 
with  the  poet’s  life,  except  the  house  in  which  he  was  born, 
is  dearer  to  people’s  hearts  than  the  quaint  old  thatched- 

1 H.  W.  Mabie : “ William  Shakespeare,  Poet,  Dramatist,  and  Man,” 
page  51. 


Anne  Hathaway’s  Cottage  at  Shottery 


Interior  of  Anne  Hathaway’s  Cottage 


Shakespeare’s  Life. 


roof  building  known  as  “ Anne  Hathaway’s  cottage  ” ; for 
it  still  stands,  at  least  in  part,  as  it  was  when  the  “ youth- 
ful lover  went  courting  through  the  meadows,  past  the 
‘bank  where  the  wild  thyme  blows/  to  Shottery.”  In 
February,  1585,  two  years  after  the  birth  of  Susanna,  twins 
were  born,  and  soon  after  the  youthful  husband  and  father 
left  his  native  town  to  seek  his  fortunes  in  London. 

It  would  be  most  interesting  to  know  when  and  how  and 
just  why  Shakespeare  left  Stratford,  but  no  documents 
have  been  found  that  throw  any  certain  light 
upon  this  portion  of  his  life.  It  has  generally  ^vingS  ^ 
been  assumed  that  he  found  his  way  to  the  Stratford: 
metropolis  soon  after  the  birth  of  his  twins.  ^ e poach- 
Probably  he  walked  by  the  highway  through  ^^tradi’ 
Oxford  and  Wycombe,  or  if  he  rode  it  was  on 
horseback,  purchasing  a saddle-horse  at  the  beginning  of 
his  journey,  as  was  the  custom  then,  and  selling  it  upon  his 
arrival  in  the  city.  There  is  an  old  tradition  that,  with 
other  young  men  of  the  village,  he  had  been  involved  in  a 
poaching  escapade  upon  the  estate  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy. 
In  the  first  regular  biography  of  Shakespeare  written  by 
Nicholas  Rowe  in  1709,  nearly  a hundred  years  after  the 
poet’s  death,  the  story  of  this  adventure  is  given  as  an 
actual  fact.  “ He  had,  by  a misfortune  common  enough 
among  young  fellows,  fallen  into  ill  company,  and  among 
them  some  that  made  a frequent  practice  of  deer-stealing, 
engaged  him  with  them  more  than  once  in  robbing  a park 
that  belonged  to  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  of  Charlecote,  near 
Stratford.  For  this  he  was  prosecuted  by  that  gentleman, 
as  he  thought,  somewhat  too  severely;  and,  in  order  to 
revenge  that  ill-usage,  he  made  a ballad  upon  him,  and 
though  this,  probably  the  first  essay  of  his  poetry,  be  lost, 

167 


Appendix. 


yet  it  is  said  to  have  been  so  very  bitter  that  it  redoubled 
the  prosecution  against  him  to  that  degree  that  he  was 
obliged  to  leave  his  business  and  family  in  Warwickshire 
and  shelter  himself  in  London.”  No  trace  of  this  ballad 
has  been  found  ; indeed,  the  whole  story  rests  on  gossip, 
and  must  not  be  taken  too  literally.  It  is  supported,  in  a 
way,  by  the  fact  that  Justice  Shallow  in  “ The  Merry  Wives 
of  Windsor  ” is  unquestionably  a humorous  sketch,  or  cari- 
cature, of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  of  Charlecote  Hall,  thus  sug- 
gesting that  whether  he  had  been  prosecuted  and  harried 
out  of  town  by  his  wealthy  neighbor  or  not,  the  youthful 
poet  had  some  personal  reasons  for  ridiculing  the  head  of 
the  Lucy  family. 

Still  another  account  explains  Shakespeare’s  departure 

from  Stratford  by  stating  that  he  joined  a company  of 

Stratford  strolling  players.  Though  this  may  possibly 

too  narrow  have  been  the  means  of  his  finding  congenial 

a field  for  travelling  companions,  it  seems  more  natural 

Shake-  SUppOSG  that  he  left  his  native  village  much 

speare. 

as  a boy  to-day  leaves  a remote  country  town 
and  goes  to  the  city  to  seek  his  fortune.  His  father’s 
affairs,  we  know,  had  been  steadily  declining ; his  own 
family  was  growing ; business  in  many  trades  through  the 
midland  counties  was  poor ; any  ambitious  and  high- 
spirited  youth  would  have  become  restless  and  discon- 
tented. What  was  more  natural,  under  these  circumstances, 
than  the  breaking  of  home-ties  and  moving  to  London  for 
its  larger  opportunities  ? 

The  traditions  that  Shakespeare,  upon  his  arrival  in 
the  capital  about  1585,  was  employed  in  a printer’s  shop 
and  a lawyer’s  office,  are  extremely  doubtful.  It  seems 
much  more  likely  that  he  became  connected  with  the 

168 


Shakespeare’s  Life. 


theatre  at  once,  either  as  a call-boy  in  the  building  itself, 
or  as  one  of  those  who  held  the  horses  on  which  gallants 
of  the  city  rode  to  the  play-house.  That  he 
should  have  turned  to  the  theatre  rather  than 

speare  s 

to  business  to  get  a foothold  in  London  is  not  first connec- 
strange.  Companies  of  players  had  frequently  tion  with 
visited  Stratford  in  his  boyhood.  Indeed,  the  !?e  ^ondon 
people  of  his  native  town  seem  to  have  been 
exceptionally  fond  of  the  drama,  a fact,  as  Mr.  Mabie 
has  pointed  out,  “ of  very  obvious  bearing  on  the  educa- 
tion of  Shakespeare’s  imagination  and  the  bent  of  his 
mind  toward  a vocation.”  As  a lad  of  eleven  he  probably 
saw  the  pageant  at  Kenilworth  Castle,  in  honor  of  Queen 
Elizabeth’s  visit  to  the  Earl  of  Leicester.  The  processions 
and  gorgeous  costumes  of  this  occasion,  the  tableaux  and 
scenes  set  forth  by  the  actors  from  the  city  must  have 
made  a profound  impression  on  the  mind  of  the  imagina- 
tive boy.  Moreover,  it  was  a time  of  widespread  interest 
in  everything  dramatic.  When  Shakespeare  was  born  in 
1564,  there  was  not  a single  building  in  London  devoted  to 
the  presentation  of  plays.  At  the  time  of  his  death,  fifty- 
two  years  later,  there  were  at  least  nine.  The  develop- 
ment of  the  drama  from  simple  morality  plays  and  historical 
pageants  given  in  tavern-yards  and  on  village  greens,  to 
“ Julius  Caesar  ” and  “ Hamlet,”  covered  the  period  of  the 
poet’s  youth;  so  that  when  he  arrived  in  London,  more  than 
ever  before  or  since  in  English  history,  the  theatre  was  of 
compelling  interest  and  attraction. 

The  six  years  after  his  arrival  in  London  are  a blank. 
We  must  imagine  him  rapidly  rising  through  various  posi- 
tions at  the  Rose  or  the  Curtain,  for  a young  man  of  his 
genius  and  enterprise  would  not  long  remain  obscure. 

169 


Appendix. 


His  earliest 
work  as 
actor  and 
playwright. 


It  is  certain  that  he  became  an  actor  before  he  wrote  for 
the  stage.  By  1592,  however,  he  had  evidently  earned  suffi- 
cient fame  as  a playwright  to  stir  the  jealousy 
of  Robert  Greene,  a rival  author,  who  in  that 
year  refers  bitterly  to  him  as  “ in  his  owne  con- 
ceit the  only  Shakes-scene  in  a countrie,”  and 
then  parodies  a line  from  an  early  play  that  is  attributed 
to  Shakespeare.  While  as  an  actor  he  was  learning  stage- 
craft in  the  best  possible  school,  he  was  undoubtedly 
trying  his  prentice  hand  by  mending  old  plays  and  con- 
tributing bits  to  the  work  of  his  older  companions. 
These  earliest  dramatic  writings  may  have  been  numer- 
ous, but  they  are  either  entirely  lost  or  hidden  in  plays 
credited  to  other  men.  His  progress  from  a clerk  in  a 
country  store  to  a writer  of  drama  is  thus  admirably  de- 
scribed by  Sidney  Lee : “ A young  man  of  two-and- 
twenty,  burdened  with  a wife  and  children,  he  had  left  his 
home  in  the  little  country  town  of  Stratford-on-Avon  in 
1586  to  seek  his  fortune  in  London.  Without  friends, 
without  money,  he  had,  like  any  other  stage-struck  youth, 
set  his  heart  on  becoming  an  actor  in  the  metropolis. 
Fortune  favoured  him.  He  sought  and  won  the  humble 
office  of  call-boy  in  a London  playhouse  ; but  no  sooner 
had  his  foot  touched  the  lowest  rung  of  the  theatrical 
ladder  than  his  genius  taught  him  that  the  topmost  rung 
was  within  his  reach.  He  tried  his  hand  on  the  revision 
of  an  old  play,  and  the  manager  was  not  slow  to  recognize 
an  unmatched  gift  for  dramatic  writing.1 

It  was  not  until  1593,  when  Shakespeare  was  twenty- 
nine,  that  he  appeared  openly  in  the  field  of  authorship. 
On  April  18  of  that  year  his  long  poem  “ Venus  and 
1 Sidney  Lee : “ Shakespeare  and  the  Elizabethan  Playgoer,”  page  32. 

170 


Shakespeare’s  Life. 


Adonis  ” was  entered  at  Stationers’  Hall  for  publication. 
It  was  printed  by  Richard  Field,  a Stratford  man  who 
had  come  to  London  somewhat  earlier  than 

Tne  first 

the  poet,  and  though  published  without  a name  books 
on  the  title-page,  the  dedication  to  the  Earl  published 
of  Southampton  was  signed  “William  Shake-  underllis 

# USLXU6* 

speare.”  The  same  is  true  of  “Lucrece,” 
which  was  registered  in  May  of  i594/~These  two  long 
poems  must  have  had  wide  popularity,  for  they  are  often 
praised  by  critics  of  the  day,  and  in  the  poet’s  own  life- 
time several  editions  of  both  were  issued.  They  were 
the  means  by  which  Shakespeare  became  known  as  an 
author,  for  though  some  of  his  dramatic  work  may  have 
been  printed  before  this,  plays  were  not  regarded  then  as 
literature  to  be  read,  whereas  these  poems  were  issued 
under  the  poet’s  supervision  for  the  reading  public,  and 
were  thus  “ the  first  fruits  of  his  conscious  artistic  life.” 
Both  as  actor  and  playwright,  Shakespeare’s  fame  rap- 
idly increased  after  1594;  in  fact,  the  eight  years  that 
followed  saw  him  rise  to  the  height  of  his 

powers.  His  name  stands  first  on  the  list  of  progress  in 
. . fame  and 

“principal  Comedians”  who  acted  Jonson’s  fortune. 

“ Every  Man  in  his  Humour  ” in  1598.  Francis 
Meres  in  his  “ Palladis  Tamia,”  published  in  the  same 
year,  speaks  of  the  “ mellifluous  and  honey-tongued 
Shakespeare,”  and  then  proceeds  to  name  twelve  of  his 
plays  and  compare  him  favorably  with  the  Roman  drama- 
tists Seneca  and  Plautus.  Even  if  this  list  is  incomplete 
we  see  that  already  before  1598  he  had  written  three  of 
his  most  charming  comedies,  one  of  them  “ The  Merchant 
of  Venice,”  and  at  least  one  of  the  tragedies  that  ranks 
among  his  very  greatest.  From  then  until  his  retirement 

171 


Appendix. 


to  Stratford  fourteen  years  later,  there  are  frequent  refer- 
ences to  his  plays  which  appeared  with  astonishing  rapid- 
ity. The  dates  when  they  were  written  and  first  acted  are 
often  uncertain,  but  before  1612  he  had  produced  more 
than  twenty  dramas  which  together  constitute  the  most 
marvelous  body  of  literary  work  that  ever  came  from  a 
human  mind. 

As  an  actor  he  did  not  continue  to  excel.  If  we  may 
trust  the  sentiments  of  the  sonnets,  it  is  clear  that  he 
thoroughly  disliked  this  part  of  his  profession.  Probably 
after  1604  he  ceased  to  appear  on  the  stage  altogether. 
Financially  it  is  certain  that  he  was  prosperous.  We 
know,  for  one  thing,  that  he  owned  shares  in  several 
London  theatres,  notably  the  Globe,  where  many  of  his 
own  plays  were  first  presented  to  enthusiastic  London 
audiences.  Then  his  successful  application  to  the  Col- 
lege of  Heralds  in  1599,  on  behalf  of  his  father,  for  a 
grant  of  coat-of-arms  ; his  purchase  of  several  pieces  of 
property  in  his  native  town  ; the  records  of  lawsuits  to 
recover  debts  which  were  owed  him  ; numerous  references 
which  show  us  that  he  was  looked  upon  as  a man  of  means 
and  standing ; his  friendship  with  Ben  Jonson  and  other 
learned  men  of  his  day,  — these  facts,  with  the  traditions 
of  later  generations,  all  convince  us  that  the  author  of 
“ Hamlet  ” and  “ Macbeth  ” was  a successful  man  of 
affairs,  as  well  as  one  of  the  most  prominent  and  best- 
loved  dramatists  of  his  time. 

Although  Shakespeare  made  London  his  home  after 
1584  or  1585,  it  is  probable  that  he  often  visited  Stratford 
where  his  family  continued  to  reside.  An  old  legend  states 
that  he  frequently  put  up  at  the  Crown  Inn  in  Oxford  on 
his  way  to  and  fro.  Documents  exist,  moreover)  which 

172 


Holy  Trinity  Parish  Church,  Stratford-on-Avon 


Good  trend  for  Iesvs  sake  forreare, 

TO  D1CG  'H  E DVST  ENCLOASED  STAR  FT- 

Blest  be  f man  i spares'  ties  stones. 

AND . CVRST  BE  HE  f MOVES  MY  BONES. 


Inscription  on  Shakespeare’s  Tomb 


Ivpicio  Pylivm,  genio  Sock  atkm.  arte  Maronem 
IeRRA  THGIT  , PQPVEVS  M A\RKT,  Ol.YMPVS  1 IABD 

’ Stay  Passenger  thy  goi-.st  nov  by  so  fast/ 

READ  IF  "HQ/  CAN  ST,  WHOM  ENVIOVS  DEAR  HAH  BLAST , 
WITi  IN  Tils  MONVI^TAHANSPEAREYOTEI  THOME  , 
QVK.K  NAI VRE  Dll )E -.WHOSE  NAITY DOT!  DECK  V lOMliE  . 
Far  MORETEN COST:  S1F.H  Al  l. He  HA  H TRITT. 

Lea/es: living  art,  il/t  page. to  serve  his  witt. 

■ TY  • ■ OtMIl  AND  I>0  I 0.  1 C 

■ /pTA  I'IS  SH  DIE  T>aP  • 


Inscription  on  Shakespeare’s  Monument,  Trinity  Church, 
Stratford-on-Avon 


Shakespeare’s  Life. 


show  that  he  was  constantly  investing  money  in  real  estate 

in  his  native  village,  to  which  he  seems  to  have 

looked  forward  as  a pleasant  retreat  after  the  Retirement 
. . , . from  Lon- 

strenuous  days  of  actor,  theatre-manager,  and  don  1612> 

playwright  were  over.  Probably  the  breaking 

off  of  London  ties  was  gradual ; but  it  is  doubtful  whether 

he  was  much  in  the  city  after  1612,  the  year  in  which 

“ Henry  VIII,”  the  last  of  his  plays,  was  written.  He 

now  appears  in  the  records  as  “ William  Shakespeare, 

Gent.,  of  Stratford-on-Avon  ” ; and  there  he  lived  with  his 

well-won  honors,  respected  and  loved,  for  four  years. 

In  the  early  spring  of  1616,  Shakespeare’s  youngest 
daughter,  Judith,  was  married.  A month  later  he  made 
his  will,  and  on  April  25  the  register  of  Christ  Death  in 
Church  in  Stratford  shows  that  he  was  buried.  Stratford, 
According  to  the  lettering  on  the  monument  April  23, 
he  died  on  April  23,  and  that  date,  the  date  of  1616, 
his  birth  fifty-two  years  before,  has  been  generally  ac- 
cepted as  the  day  of  his  death.  He  was  buried  in  the 
chancel  of  the  fine  old  church,  not  far  from  the  spot 
where  he  had  been  christened,  and  over  the  place  where 
he  lies^jnay  still  be  seen  the  quaint  lines  which  tradition 
tells  us  he  himself  wrote  to  be  inscribed  above  him : — 

Good  Frend  for  Iesus  Sake  Forbeare, 

To  Digg  the  Dust  Encloased  Heare: 

Blest  be  Ye  Man  Y*  Spares  thes  Stones, 

And  Curst  be  he  Y*  Moves  My  Bones. 

Whether  the  poet  wrote  these  threatening  words  or  not, 
no  sexton  has  disturbed  his  remains,  and  the  grave  of 
William  Shakespeare  in  the  beautiful  qhureh  by  the  river 
he  loved  has  remained  unopened. 

173 


SHAKESPEARE’S  PLAYS  AND  POEMS 


One  of  the  problems  of  Shakespearean  scholars  for 
more  than  a century  has  been  to  determine  the  exact 
Difficulties  years  'm  which  the  various  plays  were  written, 
of  deter-  For  just  as  we  have  no  details  of  the  poet’s  life, 
mining  the  so  are  the  records  of  his  work  either  extremely 
plays  °f  ^ mea&re  or  entirely  lacking.  Not  a single. 

manuscript  of  anything  that  Shakespeare  wrote 
has  been  preserved.  The  lire  which  burned  the  Globe 
theatre  to  the  ground  in  1613  may  have  destroyed  the 
original  pages  of  all  the  dramas : and  yet,  interesting 
and  precious  as  they  would  be  to  us  to-day,  it  is  doubt- 
ful whether  we  can  attribute  to  their  loss  our  lack  of 
knowledge  as  to  just  when  each  was  written.  We  must 
remember  that  in  Elizabethan  times  plays  were  not  con- 
sidered literature  to  be  read.  After  they  had  served  their 
purpose  on  the  stage  and  passed  out  of  popular  favor, 
they  were  set  aside  and  wholly  neglected.  As  long  as 
there  was  the  slightest  chance  of  their  being  in  demand  at 
the  theatre,  the  author  and  companies  of  actors  did  their 
best  to  keep  them  out  of  print  altogether,  apparently  in 
the  belief  that  attendance  at  the  playhouse  would  suffer  if 
the  drama  in  book  form  was  in  the  hands  of  the  people. 
Moreover,  among  the  most  cultivated  men  of  the  day,  and 
especially  among  the  growing  body  of  Puritans,  there  was 
a strong  prejudice  against  the  whole  theatrical  business. 
By  them,  actors  were  held  in  low  esteem,  and  plays  were 
looked  upon  as  things  of  light,  or  even  questionable, 
character.  The  modern  conception  that  regards  the 
drama  as  a high  and  artistic  form  of  literature  had  not 
been  born. 


474 


Plays  and  Poems. 


Under  these  circumstances  it  is  not  surprising  that  dur- 
ing his  own  lifetime  only  sixteen  of  Shakespeare’s  thirty- 
seven  plays  appeared  in  print.  These  editions,  which 
are  known  to-day  as  the  Quartos,  were  small, 
cheaply-made,  paper-bound  pamphlets  usually  The  Quarto 
sold  for  a sixpence  each/7  It  is  generally  be-  tJle  plays 
lieved  that  they  were  issued  without  the  poet’s 
consent,  and  probably  even  against  his  wishes.  Several 
of  them  were  undoubtedly  printed  from  shorthand  notes 
taken  slyly  at  a performance  in  the  theatre.  Others  may 
have  been  set  up  from  the  soiled  and  tattered  copies  of 
a needy  actor  who  had  been  secretly  bribed  to  part  with 
them.  The  confusion  and  strange  blunders  in  the  text 
show  us  that  these  Quartos  were  the^  careless  and  hasty 
work  of  piratical  printers  ; indeed,  it  is  almost  certain  that 
Shakespeare  himself  did  not  revise  or  in*  any  way  prepare 
a single  one  of  them  for  the  press. 

Inexact  and  inadequate  as  are  the  pirated  Quarto 
editions,  they  would  probably  be  the  only  plays  of  Shake- 
speare known  to  us  to-day  had  it  not  been  for  The  pirst 
a remarkable  book  that  appeared  seven  years  Folio 
after  his  death.  In  1623  two  of  the  poet’s  edition  of 
friends  put  forth  in  a single  volume  his  com-  tlle  plays‘ 
plete  dramatic  works.  These  men,  John  Heminge  and 
Henry  Condell,  — names  which  are  forever  linked  with 
Shakespeare’s, — were  actors  in  the  same  company  with 
him,  and,  with  Burbage,  were  joint  owners  of  the  Globe 
Theatre.  The  great  dramatist,  as  a token  of  lifelong 
friendship,  in  his  will  bequeathed  to  them  and  to  Burbage 
the  sum  of  twenty-six  shillings  and  eight  pence  to  buy 
rings  ; and  they  in  turn  collected  and  edited  his  plays 
“ to  keepe  the  memory  of  so  worthy  a friend  and  fellow 

175 


Appendix. 


alive.”  It  is  a large  volume  of  901  pages  in  two  columns 
of  fine  print,  and  on  the  title-page,  besides  a crude  en- 
graving of  the  poet,  are  these  words : 

Mr.  William 
SHAKESPEARES 

COMEDIES, 

HISTORIES,  & 

TRAGEDIES 

Published  according  to  the  True  Original  Copies. 

London 

Printed  by  Isaac  laggard,  and  Ed.  Blount.  1623. 

This  is  perhaps  the  most  important  volume  in  the  whole 
range  of  English  literature,  for  in  it  appeared  for  the  first 
time  in  print  twenty  of  Shakespeare’s  plays,  among  them 
“The  Tempest,”  “ Twelfth  Night,”  “ Julius  Caesar,” 
“Macbeth,”  “ Cymbeline,”  and  others  of  the  dramatist’s 
masterpieces.  Heminge  and  Condell  had  access  to  stage 
copies  of  these  plays  which  in  another  generation  might 
have  been  lost  or  destroyed  by  fire ; so  that  their  work, 
coming  when  it  did,  saved  for  us  a large  portion  of  the 
finest  poetry  and  deepest  wisdom  of  Shakespeare’s  mind. 
It  is  no  wonder  that  the  156  extant  copies  of  this  notable 
book  are  preserved  as  priceless  treasures  ; for  no  other 
single  volume  ever  did  a greater  service  to  literature  than 
this  Folio  of  1623. 

Although  Heminge  and  Condell  must  have  known  in 
many  cases  the  exact  years  in  which  Shakespeare  was  at 
work  upon  his  various  plays,  they  did  not  consider  such 

176 


Plays  and  Poems. 


Dates  of 
composi- 
tion: 
external 
evidence. 


information  of  sufficient  interest  to  include  it  in  their 
edition.  Well  might  we  spare  some  of  the  tiresome 
eulogies,  which  they  printed  in  their  preface,  for  a page 
or  two  of  facts  that  they  so  easily  might  have  included. 
As  it  stands,  however,  the  First  Folio  helps  but  little  in 
arranging  the  chronology  of  the  comedies  and  tragedies. 
And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  difficulties,  by  painstaking  research 
scholars  have  come  to  a pretty  general  agreement  upon 
the  dates  of  composition  of  most  of  the  plays.  The  evi- 
dence which  they  have  used  may  be  divided  into  two 
kinds,  external  and  internal, —that  is,  evi- 
dence found  outside  of  the  plays,  and  evidence 
found  within  the  works  themselves.  External 
evidence  consists  of  such  information  as  has 
been  obtained  from  records  of  performances 
in  diaries  and  letters  ; quotations  and  allusions  in  other 
books  ; entries  in  the  register  of  the  Stationers’  Company, 
which  for  nearly  three  hundred  years  regulated  the  publi- 
cation of  all  books  in  England ; records  of  the  Master  of 
Revels  at  Court,  and  of  course  the  dates  on  the  title-pages 
of  the  Quartos  themselves.  A good  illustration  of  this 
sort  of  evidence  is  the  journal  of  a certain  Dr.  Simon 
Forman,  in  which  he  mentions  the  fact  that  in  1610  and 
1611  he  witnessed  performances  of  “Macbeth,”  “ Cym- 
beline,”  and  “ The  Winter’s  Tale  ” at  the  Globe.  An- 
other is  the  celebrated  passage  in  the  “ Palladis  Tamia,” 
or  “Wit’s  Treasury,”  of  Francis  Meres,  which  was  pub- 
lished in  1598:  “As  Plautus  and  Seneca  are  accounted 
the  best  for  Comedy  and  Tragedy  among  the  Latines,  so 
Shakespeare  among  ye  English  is  the  most  excellent  in 
both  kinds  for  the  stage ; for  Comedy,  witness  his  Getlenie 
of  Verona)  his  Errors , his  Love  labors  lost , his  Love 

1 77 


Appendix. 


Dates  of 
composi- 
tion: 
internal 
evidence. 


labours  wonne , his  Midsummers  night  dreame , & his  Mer- 
chant of  Venice:  for  Tragedy,  his  Richard  the  2 , Richard 
the  j,  Henry  the  4,  King  John,  Titus  Andronicus , and  his 
Romeo  and  luliet.  ’ ’ Such  references  as  these  give  a defi- 
nite year,  later  than  which  the  plays  referred  to  could  not 
have  been  written.  With  a starting  point  thus  settled,  it 
is  often  possible  to  work  backward  and  fix  definitely  the 
date  of  composition. 

Internal  evidence,  though  seldom  as  exact  as  external, 
and  therefore  more  difficult  to  interpret,  is  much  more 
abundant*,.  It  may  be  nothing  more  than  a 
reference  in  the  mouth  of  an  actor  to  events 
or  books  the  dates  of  which  are  known,  sucn 
as  the  words  in  the  Prologue  to  “ Henry  V ” 
that  refer  to  the  expedition  of  the  Earl  of 
Essex  to  Ireland  in  1599.  More  often  it  deals  with  con- 
siderations of  the  metre,  language,  and  form  of  the  work 
itself.  By  studying  such  matters  as  classical  allusions, 
the  use  of  Latin  words,  kinds  of  figures  of  speech,  puns, 
variations  of  verse  and  prose,  and  many  other  changing 
peculiarities  of  the  poet’s  method,  scholars  have  been  able 
to  trace  the  development  of  Shakespeare  as  a writer,  and 
thus  assign  many  of  his  plays  to  their  probable  year  on  no 
other  evidence  than  their  style.  For  instance,  the  date  of 
j Julius  Caesar”  is  generally  agreed  to  be  not  earlier  than 
1601  from  the  poet’s  use  of  the  word  “eternal”  in  the 
phrase  “the  eternal  devil.”  As  late  as  1600  Shakespeare 
was  using  “ infernal  ” in  such  expressions,  but  after  that 
year  he  began  to  use  “ eternal,”  owing  probably  to  the 
increasing  objection  among  Puritans  of  London  to  the 
use  of  profanity  on  the  stage.  Even  such  a simple  matter 
as  the  number  of  rhyming  lines  in  a play  may  help  to 

178 


Plays  and  Poems. 


place  it  approximately.  In  “ Love’s  Labour’s  Lost,”  the 
earliest  of  the  comedies,  there  are  1028  rhymes  ; whereas 
in  “ The  Winter’s  Tale”  and  “ The  Tempest,”  written 
twenty  years  later,  there  are  none  and  two  respectively. 
It  is  therefore  safe  to  assume  that  as  Shakespeare’s  style 
developed  he  used  rhyme  less  and  less,  so  that  tragedies 
with  but  few  rhyming  lines,  such  as  “ Antony  and  Cleo- 
patra ” and  “ Coriolanus,”  may  be  assigned,  if  on  no  other 
ground,  to  the  later  years  of  his  life.  Such  matters  of 
structure  and  style  are  by  no  means  always  certain.  They 
are  delicate  to  handle  and  require  sound  judgment  and 
long  experience.  Yet  it  is  by  this  sort  of  internal  evi- 
dence, rather  than  by  external  facts,  that  the  chronology 
of  the  plays  has  been  determined. 

The  following  table  gives  the  result  of  research  and 
comparison,  of  proof  and  conjecture,  on  the  part  of  Shake- 
spearean scholars.  There  still  remain,  of 

course,  many  differences  of  opinion ; some  of  Prot)al3le 
. . , . , , dates  of  the 

the  dates  are  less  certain  than  others  y-trreW  plays 

are  almost  entirely  the  result  of  guesswork. 

Yet  when  we  consider  the  meagre  data  upon  which  stu- 
dents have  built  their  conclusions,  their  lack  of  agreement 
seems  remarkably  slight  and  insignificant. 

Of  the  thirty-seven  plays  in  the  following  table,  the 
sixteen  which  appeared  in  Quarto  editions  during  th^ 
poet’s  life  were  “ Titus  Andronicus,”  1594; 

“ Richard  II,”  “ Richard  III,”  and  “ Romeo  printed 
and  Juliet,”  1597  ; “ 1 Henry  IV  ” and  “ Love’s  before 
Labour’s  Lost,”  1598;  “The  Merchant  of  1623* 
Venice,”  “Henry  V,”  “Much  Ado  About  Nothing,” 
“ 2 Henry  IV,”  and  “A  Midsummer  Night’s  Dream,” 
1600  ; “ The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,”  1602  ; “ Hamlet,” 

179 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE  OF  SHAKESPEARE’S  PLAYS  AND  POEMS 


Tragedies 

I 

Romeo  and  Juliet 

Titus  Andronicus 

Histories 

i Henry  VI 

2 Henry  VI;  3 Henry  VI 

Richard  III 

King  John 

Richard  11 

I Henry  IV 

2 Henry  IV 

Henry  V 

Comedies 

Love’s  Labour’s  Lost 

Comedy  of  Errors 

Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona 

A Midsummer  Night’s  Dream 

Taming  of  the  Shrew 

Merchant  of  Venice 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

As  You  Like  It 

' 

- i 

rC! 

bJ3 

2 

5 1 

<u 

£ 

H 

C/3 

§ 

w 

o 

Venus  and 
Adonis 

Lucrece 

Passionate 

Pilgrim? 

K 

< 

W 

> 

o 

ON 

ON 

VO 

ON 

10 

CO 

ON 

IO 

rt- 

ON 

IO 

10 

ON 

VO 

NO 

ON 

IO 

On 

vo 

00 

ON 

VO 

ON 

On 

VO 

I 

Q 

o 

X 

t— 1 

t-H 
1— 1 

w 

Pk 

180 


Appendix. 


1603  ; “ King  Lear,”  1608  ; “Troilus  and  Cressida,”  and 
“ Pericles,”  1609.  In  addition  to  these,  a Quarto  of 
“ Othello  ” was  printed  in  1622.  The  other  twenty  plays 
were  not  published,  so  far  as  we  know,  until  1623,  wh£n 
Heminge  and  Condell  included  them  in  the  First  Folio."~ 

The  periods  shown  in  the  table  are,  of  course, ""wholly 
artificial.  Shakespeare  himself  had  no  such  division  of 
Periods  of  ^is  works  in  mind,  and  it  is  dangerous  for  us 
Shake-  to-day  to  press  very  far  the  suggestion  of 
speare’s  de-  clearly  defined  compartments  for  the  plays, 
velopment.  'ph e development  of  the  dramatist,  like  that 
of  any  artist,  was  gradual.  Changes  in  style,  in  method, 
in  views  of  life  took  place  not  in  a single  year^jDut  were 
the  result  of  slowly  expanding  power  and  growth  of 
character.  In  that  growth  there  were  no  sudden  breaks 
or  unaccountable  transformations.  The  mind  that  created 
“ Hamlet”  in  1602  was  the  same  mind  that  created 
“ Twelfth  Night”  in  1600,  no  matter  how  black  the  line 
that  separates  them  into  two  different  periods.  Yet  a 
glance  at  the  divisions  in  the  table  reveals  two  or  three 
interesting  facts. 

When  Shakespeare  has  gained  a foothold  in  the  London 
theatres  he  first  turns  his  hand  to  old  plays,  touching  them 

up,  remodelling,  and  improving.  This  is  his 
X1I6  years  t , 

of  experi-  natural  work  as  an  apprentice  playwright.  As 

ment,  1590-  he  gains  confidence  and  strikes  out  for  him- 

self,  he  experiments  with  all  the  forms  of  play- 
writing that  then  are  known.  Thus  in  “ Love’s  Labour’s 
Lost  ” we  find  one  of  the  very  few  works  the  plot  of  which 
is  his  own  invention  ; in  “ The  Comedy  of  Errors  ” and 
“ The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  ” he  imitates  the  Latin 
comedies  of  Plautus  ; in  “ Richard  III  ” and  “ King  John  ” 

182 


Plays  and  Poems. 

he  attempts  historical  tragedy,  and  in  “ Romeo  and  Juliet  ” 
he  gives  us  tragedy,  full  of  romance  and  passion,  drawn 
from  Italy  whence  so  many  of  his  stories  of  later  years 
are  to  come.  The  four  years  from  1590  to  1593  are  evi- 
dently years  of  feeling  about,  testing  himself,  and  experi- 
menting. Naturally  he  writes  with  great  rapidity:  he  is 
full  of  enthusiasm  and  the  impetuous  rush  of  youth.  All 
that  he  does  shows  signs  of  a beginner  and  an  unsettled 
purpose.  We  therefore  do  not  expect  to  find  highly  fin- 
ished work.  As  a matter  of  fact,  with  the  exception  of 
“ Romeo  and  Juliet”  and  “ Richard  III,”  none  of  the 
plays  of  this  early  period  are  acted  on  the  stage  to-day  or 
often  read. 

It  is  now  that  Shakespeare  writes  his  two  long  story 

poems, — •“  Venus  and  Adonis  ” in  1593  and  “ Lucrece  ” 

in  1 CQ4.  In  them  he  retells  classical  legends 

y The  poems, 

taken  chiefly  from  the  Roman  poet  Ovid. 

Their  elaborate  and  florid  language  reminds  us  of  similar 
narrative  poems  of  the  period.  In  their  spirit  and  style 
they  resemble  the  early  plays,  but  in  one  important  respect 
they  differ  : they  are  published  with  their  author’s  name  on 
the  title-page.  Unlike  the  Quartos  of  the  dramas,  Shake- 
speare prepares  these  poems  for  the  press.  Their  popu- 
larity surpasses  even  that  of  the  comedies.  Seven  editions 
of  “ Venus  and  Adonis”  are  issued  between  1593  and 
1602,  and  five  of  “Lucrece”  between  1594  and  1616. 
Among  the  reading  public  of  his  day  he  becomes  more 
widely  known  by  them  than  by  his  work  for  the  stage. 
He  is  now,  in  the  eyes  of  the  learned  world,  an  author 
and  creator  of  real  literature. 

By  1594  the  years  of  apprenticeship  are  over;  Shake- 
speare has  found  where  his  powers  lie.  He  is  still  young 

183 


Appendix. 


and  ardent ; the  sadder  and  more  serious  things  of 
life  have  not  yet  come  to  him  ; he  sympathizes  with  the 
The  great  demands  of  the  London  populace  to  be  amused, 
comedies,  The  results  are  the  last  of  the  histories  and 
1594-1600.  seven  years  of  comedies,  — the  fullest,  and 
we  may  well  believe,  the  happiest  time  of  his  life  as  a 
dramatist.  His  power  of  expression,  his  skill  in  con- 
structing a play,  — • above  all,  his  keen  insight  into  human 
nature,  — develop  with  astonishing  rapidity,  until  he  is 
the  favorite  playwright  of  his  day.  In  wit  and  enthusi- 
asm, in  pure  poetry  and  “ gusto,”  in  creation  of  interesting 
and  delightful  character,  the  plays  from  “ A Midsummer 
Night’s  Dream”  to  “ Twelfth  Night”  stand  unmatched. 
Not  one  of  them  has  faded  after  three  hundred  years : 
they  still  are  acted  and  read  with  profit  and  pleasure. 
Together  they  form  “the  rich  period  of  unsurpassable 
comedy.” 

But  youth  and  rollicking  fun,  high  spirits  and  unbroken 
happiness,  do  not  last.  With  the  end  of  the  century  comes 
The  great  a turning-point  in  Shakespeare’s  life.  Per- 

tragedies,  haps  it  is  personal  grief  and  suffering ; possi- 

1601-1609.  bly  it  is  poor  health  and  for  the  first  time  the 
thought  that  his  own  death  may  not  be  far  away ; pos- 
sibly it  is  disappointment  in  his  friends  or  his  ambitions  ; 
or  it  may  be  simply  a deeper  wisdom  coming  with  maturer 
years  that  now  begins  to  make  him  think  more  and  more 
of  the  greater  and  more  serious  things  of  life.  The  pas- 
sions, the  temptations,  the  moral  struggles  of  mankind 
now  absorb  his  interest.  Naturally,  comedy  and  history 
are  inadequate  for  the  expression  of  these  deeper  thoughts 
and  emotions.  With  “ Julius  Caesar  ” begin  the  great 
tragedies,  that  “ series  of  spectacles  of  the  pity  and  terror 


Plays  and  Poems. 


of  human  suffering  and  human  sin  without  parallel  in  the 
modern  world.”1  Even  the  three  comedies  of  these  years 
are  comedies  only  in  name.  Throughout  them  there  is 
the  atmosphere  of  suffering  and  sin.  Their  theme  and 
spirit  are  more  in  keeping  with  “ Hamlet  ” and  “ King 
Lear  ” than  with  the  merrymaking  and  joyous  fun  of  “ As 
You  Like  It  ” and  “ A Midsummer  Night’s  Dream.”  Thus 
every  play  of  this  period  has  a tragic  motive,  for  during 
its  nine  years  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  poet  are  con- 
cerned with  the  saddest  and  deepest  things  of  human 
life. 

In  1609,  toward  the  close  of  this  period  of  tragedy, 

Shakespeare  prints  his  volume  of  sonnets,  one  hundred 

and  fifty-four  in  number.  Some  of  them  must 

. . The  sonnets, 

have  been  written  much  earlier.  Their  style 

and  youthful  spirit  show  that ; but  besides,  as  early  as 
1598,  Francis  Meres  spoke  of  Shakespeare’s  “ sugred  Son- 
nets among  his  private  friends.”  Yet  many  of  them  show 
such  power,  such  masterful  handling  of  profound  thought, 
such  noble  poetic  form,  that  they  seem  to  come  from  the 
years  that  produced  “ Hamlet  ” and  “ Othello.”  Probably 
the  poet  has  been  writing  them  off  and  on  ever  since  he 
came  to  London,  and  now  in  1609  he  puts  them  at  last 
into  book  form.  It  is  well  that  he  does  so;  for  to-day 
every  one  who  enjoys  poetry  reads  them  with  delight. 
Unlike  “ Venus  and  Adonis  ” and  “ Lucrece  ” they  do  not 
fade  ; they  are  among  the  most  perfect  sonnets  in  our  lan- 
guage, and  they  contain  some  of  the  finest  lines  that  ever 
came  from  Shakespeare’s  pen.  Here  are  two  of  the  most 
admired  : 

1 “The  Facts  about  Shakespeare,”  Neilson  and  Thorndike.  The  Mac- 
millan Company,  1915. 

185 


Appendix. 


29. 

When,  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men’s  eyes? 

I all  alone  beweep  my  outcast  state 

And  trouble  deaf  heaven  with  my  bootless  cries 

And  look  upon  myself  and  curse  my  fate, 

Wishing  me  like  to  one  more  rich  in  hope, 

Featured  like  him,  like  him  with  friends  possess’d, 
Desiring  this  man’s  art  and  that  man’s  scope, 

With  what  I most  enjoy  contented  least ; 

Yet  in  these  thoughts  myself  almost  despising, 

Haply  I think  on  thee,  and  then  my  state, 

Like  to  the  lark  at  break  of  day  arising 

From  sullen  earth,  sings  hymns  at  heaven’s  gate; 

For  thy  sweet  love  remember’d  such  wealth  brings 
That  then  I scorn  to  change  my  state  with  kings. 

1 16. 

Let  me  not  to  the  marriage  of  true  minds 
Admit  impediments.  Love  is  not  love 
Which  alters  when  it  alteration  finds, 

Or  bends  with  the  remover  to  remove : 

O,  no ! it  is  an  ever-fixed  mark 

That  looks  on  tempests  and  is  never  shaken ; 

It  is  the  star  to  every  wandering  bark, 

Whose  worth’s  unknown,  although  his  height  be  taken ; 
Love’s  not  Time’s  fool,  though  rosy  lips  and  cheeks 
Within  his  bending  sickle’s  compass  come ; 

Love  alters  not  with  his  brief  hours  and  weeks, 

But  bears  it  out  even  to  the  edge  of  doom. 

If  this  be  error  and  upon  me  proved, 
a I never  writ,  nor  no  man  ever  loved. 

The  storm  and  stress  of  tragedy,  however,  does  not  con- 
tinue to  the  end.  In  the  last  years  Shakespeare  turns 


Plays  and  Poems. 


away  from  the  bitterness  and  sorrow  of  life,  and  leaves 
us  as  his  final  message  three  romantic  comedies  of  de- 
lightful charm.  The  calm  and  quiet  humor  of  ^he  later 
these  plays  is  very  different  from  the  boisterous  comedies, 
farce  of  “ The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor”  and  1610-1612. 
the  buffoonery  of  the  clowns  in  the  earlier  dramas ; but 
their  beauty  and  sweetness  and  idealism  make  a happy 
and  fitting  close  to  the  poet’s  work.  In  “ Henry  VIII,” 
which  shows  brilliant  flashes  of  his  genius,  and  in  “ The 
Two  Noble  Kinsmen,”  which  is  not  generally  included 
among  his  plays,  he  writes  in  collaboration  with  John 
Fletcher,  or  with  some  other  of  the  younger  dramatists 
of  these  later  years.  He  has  made  his  fortune  ; he  knows 
that  his  work  is  done  ; he  is  looking  fondly  toward  his 
Stratford  home,  and  so  he  turns  over  his  place  to  other 
men. 

First,  — imitating,  feeling  his  way,  experimenting,  rap- 
idly and  eagerly  trying  everything  about  him  ; then  seven 
full  years  of  whole-souled  joy  of  living,  enthu- 

J summary, 

siasm,  laughter,  and  fun ; then  deeper  emo- 
tions and  profound  thought  upon  the  saddest  and  most 
serious  things  of  life  ; then  a happier  time  of  calm  reflec- 
tion and  repose,  followed  by  retirement  from  active  work 
in  London  to  the  peaceful  village  home  on  the  Avon  ; 
then,  after  four  quiet  years,  the  end.  Thus,  in  a way,  we 
begin  to  understand  the  development  of  Shakespeare’s 
mind  and  character  by  a study  of  the  years  in  which  he 
wrote  his  plays  and  poems. 


187 


SHAKESPEARE’S  POPULARITY  IN  HIS  OWN  DAY 


his  own 
lifetime 


There  somehow  exists  a quite  general  feeling  that 
Shakespeare’s  genius  was  not  properly  appreciated  in  his 
own  time ; that  dramatists,  now  ranked  far 
~ below  him,  were  more  popular  with  audiences 
widely  ap-  in  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth  and  King 
predated  in  James  I.  Whether  this  notion  comes  from  the 
scarcity  of  facts  which  we  have  concerning  the 
poet’s  life,  it  is  hard  to  say.  Certainly  such  a 
belief  must  be  ranked  among  the  most  unfortunate  of 
popular  errors.  There  is  ample  evidence  to  show  that 
he  was  not  only  popular  with  uneducated  London  trades- 
men and  apprentices  who  thronged  the  pit  of  the  Globe, 
but  in  the  best  critical  judgment  of  the  day  lie  was  con- 
sidered the  first  of  poets  and  dramatists.  “ Throughout 
his  lifetime,”  says  Sidney  Lee,  “and  for  a generation 
afterwards,  his  plays  drew  crowds  to  pit,  boxes,  and  gal- 
lery alike.  It  is  true  that  he  was  one  of  a number  of 
popular  dramatists,  many  of  whom  had  rare  gifts,  and  all 
of  whom  glowed  with  a spark  of  genuine  literary  fire. 
But  Shakespeare  was  the  sun  in  the  firmament : when  his 
light  shone,  the  fires  of  all  contemporaries  paled  in  the 
playgoer’s  eye.”1 

Many  bits  of  evidence  have  come  down  to  us  that  show 
how  high  a place  in  people’s  hearts  the  plays  of  Shake- 
Evidences  speare  held  in  their  author’s  lifetime.  For 
of  his  popu-  instance,  when  he  had  been  in  London  but  ten 
larity.  years  he  was  summoned  by  Queen  Elizabeth 
to  play  before  her  and  the  court  at  Greenwich  in  the 

1 Sidney  ; “ Shakespeare  and  the  Elizabethan  Playgoer,” 

188 


Popularity. 


Christmas  holidays.  The  favor  which  King  James  showed 
his  tragedies  is  well  known.  “Hamlet”  was  acted 
several  times  in  the  first  year  of  its  production,  both  in 
London  and  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge.  Four  edition, c 
were  printed  in  eight  years, — an  unusual  demand  for 
those  times.  Moreover,  the  name  of  Shakespeare  ap- 
pears in  the  works  of  contemporary  authors  more  than 
that  of  any  other  dramatist,  and  almost  invariably  it  is 
coupled  with  praise  and  admiration.  He  is  the  *“  mellif- 
luous ” and  “ honey-tongued  ” poet.  One  sets  him  above 
Plautus  and  Seneca;  another  prefers  him  to  Chaucer, 
Gower,  and  Spenser ; another  declares  that  “ he  puts  them 
all  down,  ay,  and  Ben  Jonson,  too.”  In  the  preface  of  the 
first  complete  edition  of  his  plays,  published  seven  years 
after  his  death,  the  compilers,  who  were  his  fellow-actors 
and  friends,  wrote  of  him  that  he  was  one  “ who  as  he  was 
a happie  imitator  of  Nature,  was  a most  gentle  expresser 
of  it.  His  mind  and  hand  went  together ; and  what  he 
thought,  he  uttered  with  that  easinesse  that  wee  have 
scarse  received  from  him  a blot  in  his  papers.  But  it  is 
not  our  province,  who  onely  gather  his  works  and  give 
them  you,  to  praise  him.  It  is  yours  that  reade  him. 
And  there  we  hope,  to  your  divers  capacities,  you  will  finde 
enough  both  to  draw  and  hold  you ; for  his  wit  can  no 
more  lie  hid  than  it  could  be  lost.  Reade  him,  therefore  ; 
and  againe  and  againe  ; and  if  then  you  doe  not  like  him, 
surely  you  are  in  some  manifest  danger  not  to  understand 

BenJon- 

A part  of  the  introductory  material  of  this  son’s  praise 
First  Folio  edition  of  the  plays  consists  of  of  Shake- 
poems  of  praise  contributed  by  the  poet’s  speare* 
admirers.  Among  the  most  famous  are  the  noble  lines 

189 


Appendix. 


of  Ben  Jonson,  scholar,  poet,  and  dramatist.  Here  are 
the  words  of  a thoughtful  critic  who  knew  the  theatre  from 
the  stage  and  from  the  audience,  — a man  who  had  been 
associated  with  Shakespeare  throughout  his  London  career 
and  who  understood,  better  than  any  other,  his  place  in  the 
hearts  of  English  people. 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  BELOVED  MASTER  WILLIAM 
SHAKESPEARE  AND  WHAT  HE  HATH  LEFT  US 

To  draw  no  envy,  Shakespeare,  on  thy  name, 

Am  I thus  ample  to  thy  book  and  fame ; 

While  I confess  thy  writings  to  be  such, 

As  neither  Man  nor  Muse  can  praise  too  much. 

*7v  Tv  *7V  'TV'  *7Y‘  Tv  *7v  *7T 

Soul  of  the  age  ! 

The  applause,  delight,  the  wonder  of  our  stage ! 

My  Shakespeare,  rise  1 I will  not  lodge  thee  by 
Chaucer,  or  Spenser,  or  bid  Beaumont  lie 
A little  further  to  make  thee  a room  : 

Thou  art  a monument  without  a tomb, 

And  art  alive  still  while  thy  book  doth  live, 

And  we  have  wits  to  read,  and  praise  to  give. 

That  I not  mix  thee  so  my  brain  excuses,  — 

I mean  with  great,  but  disproportioned  Muses  ; 

For  if  I thought  my  judgment  were  of  years, 

I should  commit  thee  surely  with  thy  peers, 

And  tell  how  far  thou  didst  our  Lyly  outshine, 

Or  sporting  Kyd,  or  Marlowe’s  mighty  line. 

And  though  thou  hadst  small  Latin  and  less  Greek 
From  thence  to  honour  thee  I would  not  seek 
IQO 


Popularity. 


For  names,  but  call  forth  thund’ring  ^Eschylus, 
Euripides  and  Sophocles  to  us, 

Pacuvius,  Accius,  him  of  Cordova  dead, 

To  life  again  to  hear  thy  buskin  tread, 

And  shake  a stage ; or  when  thy  socks  were  on, 
Leave  thee  alone  for  a comparison 
Of  all  that  insolent  Greece  or  haughty  Rome 
Sent  forth,  or  since  did  from  their  ashes  come. 
Triumph,  my  Britain,  thou  hast  one  to  show, 

To  whom  all  scenes  of  Europe  homage  owe. 

He  was  not  of  an  age,  but  for  all  time ! 

And  all  the  Muses  still  were  in  their  prime, 
When,  like  Apollo,  he  came  forth  to  warm 
Our  ears,  or  like  a Mercury  to  charm  ! 

Nature  herself  was  proud  of  his  designs, 

And  joyed  to  wear  the  dressing  of  his  lines, 
Which  were  so  richly  spun,  and  woven  so  fit, 

As,  since,  she  will  vouchsafe  no  other  wit. 

The  merry  Greek,  tart  Aristophanes, 

Neat  Terence,  witty  Plautus,  now  not  please ; 
But  antiquated  and  deserted  lie, 

As  they  were  not  of  Nature’s  family. 

Yet  must  I not  give  Nature  all ; thy  Art, 

My  gentle  Shakespeare,  must  enjoy  a part. 

For  though  the  poet’s  matter  nature  be, 

His  art  doth  give  the  fashion  ; and  that  he 
Who  casts  to  write  a living  line,  must  sweat 
(Such  as  thine  are)  and  strike  the  second  heat 
Upon  the  Muses’  anvil,  turn  the  same, 

And  himself  with  it,  that  he  thinks  to  frame  ; 

Or  for  the  laurel  he  may  gain  to  scorn  ; 

For  a good  poet’s  made,  as  well  as  born. 


Appendix. 


And  such  wert  thou ! Look  how  the  father’s  face 
Lives  in  his  issue,  even  so  the  race 
Of  Shakespeare’s  mind  and  manners  brightly  shines 
In  his  well  turned  and  true  filed  lines, 

In  each  of  which  he  seems  to  shake  a lance, 

As  brandished  at  the  eyes  of  ignorance. 

Sweet  Swan  of  Avon  I what  a sight  it  were 
To  see  thee  in  our  waters  yet  appear, 

And  make  those  flights  upon  the  banks  of  Thames, 

That  so  did  take  Eliza  and  our  James  !• 

But  stay,  I see  thee  in  the  hemisphere 
Advanced,  and  made  a constellation  there  1 
Shine  forth,  thou  Star  of  Poets,  and  with  rage 
Or  influence  chide  or  cheer  the  drooping  stage, 

Which,  since  thy  flight  from  hence,  hath  mourned  like 
night, 

And  despairs  day  but  for  thy  volume’s  light. 

Even  without  these  lines  and  numerous  other  bits  of 
unqualified  praise  from  contemporary  pens,  the  fact  that 
the  plays  were  financially  successful,  and  that  from  them 
their  author  made  for  those  times  a small  fortune,  shows 
us  that  Shakespeare  was  truly  appreciated  by  all  sorts  of 
people  in  his  own  day.  Before  his  death  he  had  taken 
the  place  which  he  now  holds,  — that  of  the  foremost  of 
English  poets  and  dramatists. 


192 


SHAKESPEARE’S  FAME  SINCE  HIS  DEATH 


During  the  three  hundred  years  since  Shakespeare’s 
death  the  popularity  of  his  plays  on  the  stage  has  natu- 
rally varied  somewhat  with  the  changing  taste  sllake 
of  the  times.  Toward  the  end  of  his  life  a speare  on 
decline  in  the  drama  had  begun,  so  that  the  the  stage 
generation  which  followed  was  more  pleased  since  1616' 
by  the  coarse  blood-and-thunder  tragedies  of  Webster, 
Ford,  and  Massinger  than  by  the  more  profound  and  more 
artistic  work  of  Shakespeare.  Certain  ones  of  the  plays 
that  very  early  ceased  to  be  popular  on  the  stage  have 
never  since  come  into  favor.  Most  of  the  histories,  two 
or  three  of  the  earliest  comedies,  “ All’s  Well  That  Ends 
Well,”  “Measure  for  Measure,”  “Pericles,”  “Timon  of 
Athens,”  “Troilus  and  Cressida,”  and  “ Coriolanus  ” have 
seldom  been  acted  since  they  were  first  produced.  The 
subjects  of  some  of  these  are  not  suitable  to  present  in  a 
modern  theatre ; in  others,  as  in  the  histories,  there  is  not 
enough  action  or  dialogue  to  satisfy  an  audience  to-day. 
Yet  these  make  but  a small  portion  of  the  poet’s  work. 
With  the  exception  of  the  twenty  years,  1640-1660,  when 
all  theatres  in  England  were  closed  under  the  censorship 
of  Cromwell’s  Puritan  Government,  there  never  has  been 
an  age  that  has  not  had  the  opportunity  to  see  its  fore- 
most actors  in  the  greater  comedies  and  tragedies  that 
came  from  Shakespeare’s  pen. 

During  the  reign  of  Charles  II,  in  the  period  known  as 
the  Restoration,  and  for  the  forty  years  that  followed, 
literary  taste  was  at  its  lowest  mark.  Naturally  Shake- 
speare suffered  at  a time  when  the  coarse  and  artificial 

193. 


Appendix. 


The  feeling 
for  Shake- 
speare 
during  the 
Restora- 
tion, 1660- 

mO. 


plays  of  Wycherley,  Vanbrugh,  and  Farquahar  fascinated 
both  the  nobility  and  the  common  people  of  London. 

His  dramas,  to  be  sure,  were  still  presented 
on  the  stage,  but  they  were  generally  worked 
over,  or  even  rewritten,  to  suit  the  strange 
fancies  of  the  age.  With  music,  new  scenes, 
and  new  characters  they  were  mutilated  almost 
beyond  recognition.  From  one  point  of  view 
they  were  spoiled  ; yet  it  is  significant  that 
even  to  the  theatre-goers  of  1680  they  still  had  enough 
vitality  and  imaginative  power  to  be  made  the  foundation 
of  popular  and  successful  entertainments.  Dryden,  the 
chief  poet  of  the  time,  admired  the  genius  of  their  author, 
and  wrote  prefaces  for  them  in  their  renovated  form. 
Betterton,  the  greatest  actor  of  the  age,  was  regarded  at  his 
best  as  the  Prince  in  “ Hamlet,”  a part  which  he  played  on 
many  occasions,  and  always  to  enthusiastic  houses.  Sam- 
uel Pepys,  who  kept  a remarkable  diary  between  1661  and 
1669,  records  in  his  journal  three  hundred  and  fifty-one 
visits  to  the  London  theatres  during  these  eight  years. 
On  forty-one  of  these  occasions  he  saw  plays  by  Shake- 
speare, or  plays  based  upon  them.  Though  Pepys  was 
entirely  unable  to  appreciate  the  poetry  and  all  the  finer 
qualities  of  what  he  heard,  — he  speaks  in  especially 
slighting  terms  of  the  comedies,  — still  it  is  interesting 
to  know  that  he  had  even  the  opportunity,  in  eight 
short  years,  to  witness  fourteen  different  works  of  the 
great  Elizabethan  dramatist.  This,  too,  in  England’s 
darkest  age  of  literary  appreciation ! 

The  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  saw  a new  and 
genuine  enthusiasm  for  Shakespeare.  Scholars  began  to 
study  his  life  and  his  work.  New  editions  were  published, 

194 


Fame, 


with  notes  and  comment.  The  plays  were  revived  on  the 

stage  in  their  original  and  true  form.  A great  interest  in 

all  that  he  had  said  and  thought  was  born,  — T^e  great 

an  interest  which  grew  through  the  years  that  actors  in 

followed,  and  still  is  growing.  The  foremost  Shake- 

actors  of  all  times  have  turned  to  him  for  their  sPeare  s 

plays. 

most  ambitious  work,  and  the  crowning  of 
their  professional  achievement.  Perhaps  the  greatest  of 
them  all  was  David  Garrick.  “ From  his  first  triumph  in 
Richard  III,  in  1741,  to  his  farewell  performance  of  Lear  in 
1776,  he  won  a series  of  signal  successes  in  both  tragedy 
and  comedy,  in  Hamlet,  Lear,  Macbeth,  Richard  III, 
Falconbridge,  Romeo,  Hotspur,  Iago,  Leontes,  Posthu- 
mus, Benedick,  and  Antony.  Garrick’s  services  to  Shake- 
speare extended  beyond  the  parts  which  he  impersonated. 
He  revived  many  plays,  and  though  he  garbled  the  texts 
freely,  yet  in  comparison  with  earlier  practice  he  really 
had  some  right  to  boast  that  he  had  restored  the  text  of 
Shakespeare  to  the  stage.  Further,  his  example  led  to  an 
increased  popularity  of  Shakespeare  in  the  theatre  and 
afforded  new  incentives  for  other  actors.  Mrs.  Clive, 
Mrs.  Cibber,  and  Mrs.  Pritchard  were  among  the  women 
who  acted  with  Garrick.  Macklin,  by  his  revival  of  Shy- 
lock  as  a tragic  character,  Henderson,  by  his  impersona- 
tion of  Falstaff,  and  John  Palmer  in  secondary  characters, 
as  Iago,  Mercutio,  Touchstone,  and  Sir  Tobey,  were  his 
contemporaries  most  famous  in  their  day.”1  After  Gar- 
rick came  Mrs.  Kemble,  Edmund  Kean,  Mrs.  Siddons, 
Macready,  and  Booth,  — names  remembered  to-day  chiefly 
in  connection  with  the  Shakespearean  roles  which  they 
nobly  played. 

1 Neilson  and  Thorndike;  “ The  Facts  about  Shakespeare,” page  174. 

19s 


Appendix. 


Conditions  have  not  changed  in  our  own  time.  The 
greatest  actors  of  our  own  generation,  Sir  Henry  Irving, 
Shake  Ellen  Terry,  Helena  Modjeska,  Ada  Rehan, 
speare  on  Forbes  Robertson,  Beerbohm  Tree,  Julia  Mar- 
the  stage  lowe,  and  Edward  Sothern,  have  been  seen  at 

to-day.  their  best  in  the  comedies  and  tragedies  of 

Shakespeare.  Even  in  the  twentieth  century,  with  musi- 
cal comedies,  vaudeville,  and  moving-pictures  to  contend 
with,  his  plays  are  presented  in  greater  number  than  are 
the  plays  of  any  other  man  who  has  ever  lived.  Nor  are 
they  revived  merely  for  the.  sake  of  sentiment.  They 
draw  large  audiences  of  all  sorts  of  people.  They  still 
pay  as  purely  business  undertakings.  “ The  Merchant 
of  Venice, ” “ Julius  Caesar/’  “ Hamlet,”  “ Macbeth,” 
“ Twelfth  Night,”  “As  You  Like  It,”  “A  Midsummer 
Night’s  Dream,”  “Romeo  and  Juliet,”  “The  Taming  of 
the  Shrew,”  and  “The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor”  still 
earn  money  for  actors  and  theatre-managers  as  they  did 
three  centuries  ago.  What  is  far  more  important,  they 
still  give  pleasure  and  amusement,  they  still  stir  laughter 
and  tears  and  awaken  the  imagination  as  they  did  at  the 
Globe  in  London  in  the  lifetime  of  their  creator. 

Shakespeare,  we  know,  wrote  his  plays  to  be  acted : to 
him  they  were  distinctly  stage  productions  to  be  seen  and 
heard  at  the  theatre.  So  little  did  he  think  of 
their  being  read  that  he  apparently  had  no 
concern  about  them  in  their  book  form.  To- 
day, on  the  contrary,  though  they  still  are 
presented  on  the  stage,  it  is  in  school  and 
college  classrooms,  in  libraries,  and  in  homes  that  they 
are  chiefly  known.  New  editions  are  constantly  appear- 
ing. Plays  and  novels  that  were  popular  twenty  years 

196 


Shake- 
speare’s 
plays  read, 
as  well  as 
acted. 


Fame. 


ago  are  out  of  print  and  difficult  to  find ; the  works  of 
Shakespeare,  in  a dozen  different  forms,  are  in  every 
book-store  of  England  and  America.  Quite  apart  from 
their  acting  qualities,  they  have  come  to  be  regarded  as 
the  highest  type  of  literature  in  our  language. 

This  is  not  the  place  to  give  an  extensive  criticism  of 
Shakespeare’s  works,  nor  a full  analysis  of  the  reasons  why 
the  world  regards  them  so  highly  apart  from  whyShake- 
their  value  as  stage  performances.  It  will  be  speare 
enough  to  remind  the  student  that  in  nothing  Eves, 
that  has  ever  been  written  do  we  find  a clearer  or  more 
faithful  portrayal  of  all  the  varying  moods  and  emotions 
of  human  nature.  The  characters  which  Shakespeare  has 
created  live  in  our  minds  both  as  individuals  and  as  types 
of  the  ideal.  He  strips  away  the  petty  things  from  life 
and  shows  us  the  eternal  elements  underneath.  He  has 
that  wonderful  and  rare  quality  called  universality ; for  he 
expresses  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  us  all,  — the  things 
which  we  know  to  be  great  and  true.  Somewhere  in  his 
plays  everyone  finds  himself,  and  the  discovery,  though  he 
may  not  realize  it  at  the  time,  makes  a lasting  impression. 
For  Shakespeare  is  the  supreme  teacher : he  suggests, 
but  does  not  preach,  the  art  of  living.  Other  men  have 
done  all  this.  But  Shakespeare  has  left  us  his  wisdom 
and  his  interpretation  of  life  in  a more  beautiful  and 
stately  diction,  in  phrasing  more  apt  and  pleasing,  in 
poetry  of  greater  imaginative  power,  than  has  ever  come 
from  the  mind  of  man. 

More  books  have  been  written  about  Shakespeare  than 
about  any  other  person  who  ever  lived.1  This  is  not  surpris- 

1 For  titles  of  those  books  on  Shakespeare  most  interesting  to  students 
and  teachers,  see  page  224. 


197 


Appendix. 


ing  when  we  consider  that  the  interest  in  his  pla}^,  which 
has  existed  now  for  three  centuries,  is  world-wide,  and  when 
wre  remember  that  the  language  in  which  he  wrote  often 
needs  explanation  and  comment  to  make  it  perfectly  clear 
to  the  average  reader  to-day.  Almost  every  English  and 
American  poet  of  note  has  left  a tribute  to  the  greatest 
of  all  poets.  Perhaps  the  best  known  are  Milton’s  famous 
Epitaph,  “ What  needs  my  Shakespeare  ” etc.,  — and  Ben 
Jonson’s  lines  contributed  to  the  First  Folio  in  1623,  which 
are  given  on  page  190.  Here  are  a few  other  short  poems, 
or  selections  from  poems,  which  give  honor  and  praise  to 
those  characteristics  that  have  made  Shakespeare  the  in- 
spiration and  the  guiding-star  of  poets  since  Elizabethan 
times. 


James  Thomson 

For  lofty  sense, 

Creative  fancy,  and  inspection  keen 
Through  the  deep  windings  of  the  human  heart, 

Is  not  wild  Shakespeare  thine  and  Nature’s  boast? 

Summer — 1727. 


William  Collins 

The  temper  of  our  isle,  though  cold,  is  clear ; 

And  such  our  genius,  noble  though  severe. 

Our  Shakespeare  scorn’d  the  trifling  rules  of  art, 

But  knew  to  conquer  and  surprise  the  heart ! 

In  magic  chains  the  captive  thought  to  bind, 

And  fathom  all  the  depths  of  human  kind  1 

On  our  Late  Taste  in  Music — 1747 

198 


Fame. 


Thomas  Gray 

Far  from  the  sun  and  summer  gale 
In  thy  green  lap  was  Nature’s  Darling  laid, 

What  time,  where  lucid  Avon  stray’d, 

To  him  the  mighty  mother  did  unveil 
Her  awful  face  : the  dauntless  child 
Stretch’d  forth  his  little  arms  and  smiled. 

“ This  pencil  take  (she  said),  whose  colours  clear 
Richly  paint  the  vernal  year : 

Thine  too  these  golden  keys,  immortal  boy  1 
This  can  unlock  the  gates  of  joy ; 

Of  horror  that,  and  thrilling  fears, 

Or  ope  the  sacred  source  of  sympathetic  tears.” 

The  Progress  of  Poesy  — 1757* 

Henry  Alford 

We  stood  upon  the  tomb  of  him  whose  praise, 

Time,  nor  oblivious  thrift,  nor  envy  chill, 

Nor  war,  nor  ocean  with  her  severing  space, 

Shall  hinder  from  the  peopled  world  to  fill ; 

And  thus,  in  fulness  of  our  heart,  we  cried  : 

God’s  works  are  wonderful  — the  circling  sky, 

The  rivers  that  with  noiseless  footing  glide, 

Man’s  firm-built  strength,  and  woman’s  liquid  eye ; 
But  the  high  spirit  that  sleepeth  here  below, 

More  than  all  beautiful  and  stately  things, 

Glory  to  God  the  mighty  Maker  brings  ; 

To  whom  alone  ’twas  given  the  bounds  to  know 
Of  human  action,  and  the  secret  springs 

Whence  the  deep  streams  of  joy  and  sorrow  flow. 

Stratford-upon-Avon  — 1837 


199 


Appendix. 


Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 

There  Shakespeare,  on  whose  forehead  climb 
The  crowns  o’  the  world : O eyes  sublime 
With  tears  and  laughter  for  all  time  ! 

A Vision  of  Poets — 1844 


Leigh  Hunt 

. . . Humanity’s  divinest  son, 

That  sprightliest,  gravest,  wisest,  kindest  one  . . . 

Thoughts  of  the  Avon  — 1844. 

Robert  Browning 

— I declare  our  Poet,  him 
Whose  insight  makes  all  others  dim : 

A thousand  Poets  pried  at  life, 

And  only  one  amid  the  strife 
Rose  to  be  Shakespeare. 

Christmas  Eve  and  Easter  Day — 1850. 


Hartley  Coleridge 

Great  poet,  ’twas  thy  art 
To  know  thyself,  and  in  thyself  to  be 
Whate’er  love,  hate,  ambition,  destiny, 

Or  the  firm,  fatal  purpose  of  the  heart, 

Can  make  of  Man.  Yet  thou  wert  still  the  same, 
Serene  of  thought,  unhurt  by  thy  own  flame. 

To  Shakespeare  — 1851. 


200 


Fame. 


William  Wetmore  Story 

. . . Shakespeare,  whose  strong  soul  could  climb 
Steeps  of  sheer  terror,  sound  the  ocean  grand 
Of  Passion’s  deeps,  or  over  Fancy’s  strand 
Trip  with  his  fairies,  keeping  step  and  time. 

His,  too,  the  power  to  laugh  out  full  and  clear, 

With  unembittered  joyance,  and  to  move 
Along  the  silent,  shadowy  paths  of  love 
As  tenderly  as  Dante,  whose  austere, 

Stern  spirit  through  the  worlds  below,  above, 
Unsmiling  strode,  to  tell  their  tidings  here. 

The  Mighty  Makers , II — 1851 

Matthew  Arnold 

Others  abide  our  question.  Thou  art  free. 

We  ask  and  ask  — thou  smilest  and  art  still, 
Out-topping  knowledge.  For  the  loftiest  hill, 

Who  to  the  stars  uncrowns  his  majesty, 

Planting  his  steadfast  footsteps  in  the  sea, 

Making  the  heaven  of  heavens  his  dwelling-place, 
Spares  but  the  cloudy  border  of  his  base 
To  the  foil’d  searching  of  mortality  ; 

And  thou,  who  didst  the  stars  and  sunbeams  know, 
Self-school’d,  self-scann’d,  self-honour’d,  self-secure 
Didst  tread  on  earth  unguess’d  at.  — Better  so  ! 

All  pains  the  immortal  spirit  must  endure, 

All  weakness  which  impairs,  all  griefs  which  bow, 
Find  their  sole  speech  in  that  victorious  brow. 

Shakespeare  — 1C67. 


201 


THE  THEATRE  OF  SHAKESPEARE’S  DAY 


When  Shakespeare  left  Stratford  and  went  to  London, 
theatres  were  in  their  infancy.  The  first  one  had  been 
Popularity  built  in  1576,  when  he  was  a lad  of  twelve, 
of  the  first  and  on  his  arrival  in  the  city  there  were  but 
theatres.  three  small  wooden  structures  devoted  to  the 
production  of  plays.  Enthusiasm  for  the  drama,  however, 
was  aglow.  With  the  sanction  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  her- 
self a lover  of  pageants  and  revels,  and  under  the  patron- 
age of  the  powerful  Earls  of  Leicester,  Southampton,  and 
Rutland,  the  popular  demand  for  this  form  of  amusement 
grew  with  amazing  rapidity.  Theatres  shot  up  one  after 
another  until  in  1633  there  were  at  least  nineteen  in  Lon- 
don, “ a number,”  says  Brandes,  “ which  no  modern  town  of 
300,000  inhabitants  can  equal.”  Poets,  courtiers,  scholars, 
— everyone  who  could  write,  — turned  to  the  making  of 
plays.  The  art  which  Shakespeare  found  in  its  crude  and 
humble  beginnings,  in  the  short  period  of  his  active  life, 
that  is,  between  1585  and  1610,  developed  through  every 
stage  to  its  highest  form,  so  that  never  in  the  three  hun- 
dred years  that  have  since  elapsed  has  the  drama  of  the 
Elizabethan  days  been  surpassed.  In  this  development 
Shakespeare  was  “a  pioneer  — almost  the  creator  or  first 
designer  — as  well  as  the  practised  workman  in  unmatched 
perfection.”  1 

Though  the  first  theatre  in  England  was  not  erected 
until  Shakespeare  was  twelve  years  old,  long  before  his 
time  there  had  been  many  different  kinds  of  simple  plays. 
The  instinct  to  act  out  a story  had  existed  from  the  child* 

l Sidney  Lee : “ Shakespeare  and  the  Elizabethan  Playgoer.” 

202 


The  Theatre. 


hood  of  the  race.  With  the  earliest  telling  of  legends 
and  folktales  by  minstrels  and  bards  there  had  often  been 
occasion  for  dramatic  recital,  dialogue,  and  piays 
action.  For  centuries,  too,  there  had  been  the  before 
solemn  mysteries  and  quaint  old  moralities. 

Mummers  and  bands  of  strolling  players  had 
wandered  over  Europe  throughout  the  Middle  Ages. 
The  drama,  therefore,  which  flowered  in  the  last  half  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  was  not  a new  and  sudden  birth,  but 
rather  came  as  the  natural  outgrowth  of  centuries  of  crude 
and  humble  plays.  In  the  beginning  these  had  been 
closely  connected  with  the  service  of  the  church ; in  fact, 
they  had  been  a means  of  religious  instruction  rather  than 
a form  of  amusement.  To  understand  this  more  clearly, 
let  us  compare  their  origin  with  that  of  the  Greek  drama 
in  earlier  ages  still. 

Many,  many  centuries  before  Shakespeare  was  born, — 
five  or  six  hundred  years  b.c.,  — the  God  Dionysus,  or 
Bacchus,  was  worshipped  in  Greece  at  country  festivals 
by  boisterous  groups  of  men  who  chanted  and  marched 
and  exchanged  bantering  jests  as  they  danced  about  the 
altar  and  acted  out  legends  connected  with  the  god. 
These  actors,  who  represented  the  satyr  followers  of  Di- 
onysus, generally  were  clad  in  goatskins,  whence  we  have 
our  word  “tragedy,’’  from  the  Greek  tragos , a The  reli_ 
goat,  and  tragodia,  a goat-song.  From  these  gious  origin 
simple  beginnings  sprang  the  drama  of  Greece,  °*  the  Greek 

• drjiiiiSi 

which  produced  ^Eschylus,  Sophocles,  and 
Euripides.  The  religious  element  persisted  in  ancient 
times  much  longer  than  in  England,  for  the  plays  of  the 
Greek  dramatists  who  correspond  to  Shakespeare  were 
still  a form  of  worship.  In  the  center  of  the  orchestra 

. 203 


Appendix. 


stood  the  altar  of  Dionysus,  about  which  the  chorus  moved 
in  solemn  procession,  chanting  and  reciting;  before  the 
performance  began  there  were  sacrifices  to  the  god,  and  the 
plays  were  given  in  the  spring  on  the  days  of  the  Diony- 
sian festival.  Greek  tragedy  was  therefore  not  merely  an 
entertainment,  but  a serious  religious  function.  Begin- 
ning as  a popular  form  of  Nature  worship,  it  finally  be- 
came a means  of  expression  for  the  most  serious  and  finest 
of  Greek  thought  and  wisdom.  As  it  spread  from  Athens 
to  other  towns,  little  by  little  it  ceased  to  be  a religious 
affair,  until  at  last,  as  it  gradually  lost  its  vitality  and 
splendor,  its  relation  to  the  worship  of  Dionysus  entirely 
disappeared.  In  similar  fashion,  comedy  (from  comos , a 
band  of  revellers,  and  ode , a song)  developed  from  the 
ruder,  more  rustic  elements  in  the  worship  of  the  same 
god,  though  here,  as  we  might  expect,  the  religious  ele- 
ment did  not  persist  as  long  as  it  did  in  its  greater  and 
more  serious  cousin,  tragedy. 

More  than  eighteen  hundred  years  later,  in  England,  we 
find  the  beginnings  of  the  drama  again  closely  related  to 
English  worship.  At  a time  when  few  of  the  common 
drama  be-  people  could  read,  the  priests  in  the  churches 
gins  in  the  found  no  method  of  teaching  their  congre- 
gations the  stories  of  the  Bible  so  effective  as 
the  use  of  objects  and  pictures  which  appealed  to  the  eye. 
The  effectiveness  of  their  teaching  was  enormously  in- 
creased when  they  added  movement,  action,  and  talk  to 
their  picture  lessons.  Indeed,  it  was  but  a step  from  the 
impressive  and  beautiful  service  of  the  Mass  to  a dramatic 
presentation,  in  simple  form,  of  the  most  solemn  scenes 
in  religious  history.  “ In  this  manner  the  people  not  only 
heard  the  story  of  the  Adoration  of  the  Magi  and  of  the 

204 


The  Theatre. 


Marriage  in  Cana,  but  saw  the  story  in  tableau.  In 
course  of  time  the  persons  in  these  tableaux  spoke  and 
moved,  and  then  it  was  but  a logical  step  to  the  repre- 
sentation dramatically,  by  the  priests  before  the  altar,  of 
the  striking  or  significant  events  in  the  life  of  Christ.”1 
Thus  in  the  services  of  the  church  at  Christmas,  Good 
Friday,  and  Easter  were  laid  the  foundations  of  our 
modern  drama.  These  earliest  performances,  The  Mys. 
which  were  called  Mysteries,  dealt  wholly  with  teries  and 

Bible  stories,  from  the  Creation  to  the  Day  Miracle 

Plays 

of  Judgment,  and  with  the  life  of  Christ ; but 
as  they  became  more  and  more  popular  with  the  masses, 
a broader  field  of  subjects  was  sought,  and  lives  of  saints 
were  used  for  dramatic  material  in  the  Miracle  Plays  of 
a century  later.  Not  only  were  the  priests  the  authors  of 
both  these  simple  forms  of  drama,  but  with  the  choir  boys 
they  were  also  the  actors.  For  many  years  these  plays 
were  given  on  Holy  Days  and  Saints’  Days,  either  at  the 
altar  in  the  church  itself,  or  in  the  enclosure  just  outside 
its  walls.  Their  object  continued  to  be  largely  religious 
instruction.  In  the  Miracle  plays,  however,  there  were 
opportunities  for  a good  deal  of  grotesque  amusement. 
Incidents  in  the  lives  of  the  saints  were  not  always  serious 
or  spiritual.  The  Devil  gradually  became  more  or  less  of 
a comic  character.  As  the  performances  grew  less  solemn 
and  awe-inspiring,  the  attitude  of  the  people  toward  them 
changed.  No  longer  did  they  attend  them  to  worship, 
but  rather  to  see  a show  and  be  amused.  Gradually, 
therefore,  they  became  separated  from  the  service  of  the 
church,  until  finally  they  were  banished  once  for  al!  from 
the  sacred  walls,  and  but  a few  years  after  they  had  been 
1 W.  H.  Mabie : “ William  Shakespeare:  Poet,  Dramatist,  and  Man.” 
205 


Appendix. 


given  at  the  altar  they  were  being  denounced  by  the 
priests  as  base  and  wicked  things.  Indeed,  the  feeling 
that  plays  are  devices  and  temptations  of  Satan,  which 
still  exists,  may  be  traced  to  the  time,  four  centuries  ago,% 
when  the  drama  lost  favor  with  the  Church. 

The  Mysteries  and  Miracle  Plays  did  not  decline  in 
popularity  when  they  were  abandoned  by  the  various  re- 
Trade-  ligious  orders.  On  the  contrary,  with  the 
Guilds  and  greater  freedom  and  larger  opportunity  which 
the  plays.  separation  from  the  church  gave  them,  they 
increased  rapidly  in  the  people’s  favor.  They  were  now 
taken  up  by  the  trade-guilds  which,  by  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, developed  elaborate  and  systematic  methods  of  pre- 
senting them.  Often  different  groups  of  tradesmen,  such 
as  the  weavers’  guild  or  the  goldsmiths’  guild,  would  unite, 
each  band  or  “ company  ” presenting  an  act  or  scene  in  the 
play  to  be  undertaken.  Huge,  two-story  covered  wagons, 
somewhat  like  our  large  moving-vans  to-day,  took  the 
place  of  stage  and  property-rooms.  The  actors  dressed 
in  the  enclosed  part  of  the  vehicle,  and  then  mounted  a 
ladder  or  some  rough  stairs  to  the  top  story,  or  roof,  where 
they  performed  their  parts.  Announced  by  heralds,— 
sometimes  even  by  proclamation  of  the  Mayor,. — these 
pageants,  as  they  were  called,  were  drawn ' through  the 
town  on  holidays  and  occasions  of  special  festival.  In 
the  course  of  its  progress  the  moving-stage  would  stop 
several  times,  — at  the  corners  of  the  principal  streets,  in 
a public  square,  often  at  the  doors  of  a church  or  cathe- 
dral. Then  the  crowd  which  had  been  following  in  its 
wake  gathered  about  it  to  witness  again  the  drama  of 
Adam  and  Eve  and  the  Garden  of  Eden,  of  Noah,  the 
flood  and  the  ark,  of  Pilate  and  Herod,  or  one  of  the 

206 


The  Theatre. 


numberless  other  stories  with  which  they  had  been  famil- 
iar from  childhood. 

Miracle  Plays  and  Mysteries  were  followed  by  the 
Moralities  in  which  abstract  qualities  such  as  Pleasure, 
Slander,  Rage,  Perseverance,  and  the  Seven 
Deadly  Sins  took  the  place  of  characters  from  tieg 
the  Bible.  This  was  a long  stride  forward. 

Now  the  field  of  subjects  was  greatly  enlarged.  Origi- 
nality both  in  writing  plays  and  in  producing  them  was 
now  first  in  demand.  Opportunity  had  come  at  last  for 
the  creation  of  character,  and  for  the  use  of  everyday  life 
on  the  stage.  “ Everyman,”  which  has  often  been  acted  in 
our  time,  is  a good  example  of  what  the  Moralities  at  their 
best  could  be.  Like  the  Miracle  plays  they  were  gener- 
ally given  by  the  guilds  in  marketplaces,  enclosures 
of  castles,  and  inn-yards  where  people  could  watch  them 
from  windows  and  balconies,  as  well  as  from  the  ground 
about  the  portable  stage.  Heavy,  crude,  and  dull  as  these 
old  plays  now  seem  to  us,  they  were  intensely  enjoyed  by 
the  populace  of  those  far-away  simpler  times.  From  the 
eagerness  and  excitement  with  which  they  awaited  their 
coming  to  town,  or  travelled  long  distances  to  see  them, 
it  is  evident  that  a love  of  acting  was  inborn  in  the  hearts 
of  the  people  which  sooner  or  later  would  develop  a more 
finished  and  artistic  drama. 

None  of  the  performers  in  the  Myst  ries  or  Miracle 
Plays  had  been  professional  actors  ; but  now  with  the 
Moralities  came  the  opportunity  for  men  to  Acting  as  a 
make  a business  of  acting.  As  religious  sub-  profession; 
jects  gradually  disappeared  from  the  pageant  companies 
stage,  actors  by  profession  came  into  exist-  * 4 

ence.  Wandering  minstrels  and  story-tellers,  mummers 

20  7 


Appendix. 


and  strolling  players,  began  to  join  together  in  troops  for 
protection  and  companionship.  “ From  the  days  of 
Henry  VI  onwards,  members  of  the  nobility  began  to  en- 
tertain these  companies  of  actors,  and  Henry  VII  and 
Henry  VIII  had  their  own  private  comedians.  A 4 Mas- 
ter of  the  Revels  5 was  appointed  to  superintend  musical 
and  dramatic  entertainments  at  court. ” A little  later  a 
statute  of  Parliament  declared  that  “ all  actors  who  were  not 
attached  to  the  service  of  a nobleman  should  be  treated  as 
rogues  and  vagabonds,  or  in  other  words,  might  be  whipped 
out  of  any  town  in  which  they  appeared.  This  decree, 
of  course,  compelled  all  actors  to  enter  the  service  of  one 
great  man  or  other,  and  we  see  that  the  aristocracy  felt 
bound  to  protect  their  art.  A large  number  of  the  first 
men  in  the  kingdom,  during  Elizabeth’s  reign,  had  each 
his  company  of  actors.  The  player  received  from  the 
nobleman,  whose  ‘ servant  ’ he  was,  a cloak  bearing  the 
arms  of  the  family.  On  the  other  hand,  he  received  no 
salary,  but  was  simply  paid  for  each  performance  given 
before  his  patron.  We  must  thus  conceive  Shakespeare 
as  bearing  on  his  cloak  the  arms  of  Leicester,  and  after- 
wards of  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  until  about  his  fortieth 
year.  From  1604  onwards,  when  the  company  was  pro- 
moted by  James  I to  be  His  Majesty’s  Servants,  it  was 
the  Royal  arms  that  he  wore.”1 

For  many  years  these  companies  of  professional  actors 
had  no  regular  buildings  in  which  to  give  their  perform- 
The  first  ances.  Their  plays  were  presented  before 

theatres  in  their  noble  patrons  in  the  great  halls  of  their 
London.  castles,  and  occasionally  at  court  for  the 

amusement  of  the  king  or  queen.  As  late  as  Shake 

1 Georg  Brandes:  “William  Shakespeare,”  page  99. 

208 


The  Theatre. 


speare’s  boyhood  they  were  witnessed  by  the  common 
people  in  the  yards  of  taverns,  in  the  open  streets,  or 
on  village  greens.  If  the  actors  played  in  London,  either 
in  the  guild-halls  or  out  of  doors,  they  first  had  to  obtain 
a license  from  the  Lord  Mayor  for  each  performance,  and 
then  they  were  obliged  to  surrender  half  of  their  receipts 
to  the  city  treasury.  These  trying  conditions,  with  the 
growing  popularity  of  the  drama  among  all  classes,  finally 
led  in  1576  to  the  erection  of  the  first  building  for  acting 
purposes.  This  was  called  the  Theatre.  The  following 
year  the  Curtain  was  erected  ; in  1587,  the  Rose  ; in  1594, 
the  Swan;  and  in  1599,  the  Globe.  Once  begun  they 
shot  up  with  wonderful  rapidity.  When  Shakespeare 
arrived  in  the  city  there  were  but  three  playhouses ; in 
1 61 1,  when  he  retired  to  Stratford,  there  were  probably 
ten  or  twelve. 

In  one  sense  London  even  then  did  not  possess  a 
theatre,  for  the  early  playhouses  were  not  in  the  city  at 
all.  They  were  built  on  a tract  of  open  land  ^ loca_ 
across  the  Thames,  at  the  further  end  of  Lon-  tion  of 
don  Bridge,  outside  the  walls  and  well  beyond  the  first 
the  jurisdiction  of  the  Mayor.  The  capital  tlleatres- 
was  then  a town  of  small  dimensions,  barely  a mile  square, 
with  a population  of  nearly  200,000  crowded  together  in 
houses  which  were  constructed  largely  of  wood.  The 
streets  were  narrow,  crooked,  and  muddy.  Adequate 
means  of  fighting  fire  and  disease  did  not  exist.  The 
Corporation  was  therefore  strongly  opposed  to  the  erection 
of  dangerous  and  inflammable  structures  upon  the  few 
vacant  spaces  within  the  walls.  Moreover,  among  the 
Puritans,  who  were  coming  to  be  a large  and  influential 
body,  opposition  to  the  drama  was  growing  more  marked 

209 


Appendix. 


The  Globe 
Theatre : 
its  exter- 
nal ap- 
pearance. 


and  open  ; so  that  the  companies  of  actors  were  obliged  to 
put  up  their  theatres  well  beyond  the  reach  of  the  city’s  laws. 

Let  us  now  pay  a visit  to  the  Globe,  to  us  the  most  in- 
teresting of  all  the  theatres,  for  it  is  here  that  Shake- 
speare’s company  acts,  and  here  many  of  his 
plays  are  first  seen  on  the  stage.  We  cross 
the  Thames  by  London  Bridge  with  its  lines  of 
crowded  booths  and  shops  and  throngs  of 
bustling  tradesmen ; or  if  it  is  fine  weather  we 
take  a small  boat  and  are  rowed  over  the  river  to  the 
southern  shores.  Here  on  the  Bankside,  in  the  part  of 
London  now  called  Southwark,  beyond  the  end  of  the 
bridge,  and  in  the  open  fields  near  the  Bear  Garden, 
stands  a roundish,  three-story  wooden  building,  so  high 
for  its  size  that  it  looks  more  like  a clumsy,  squatty  tower 
than  a theatre.  As  we  draw  nearer  we  see  that  it  is  not 
exactly  round  after  all,  but  is  somewhat  hexagonal  in 
shape.  The  walls  seem  to  slant  a little  inward,  giving  it 
the  appearance  of  a huge  thimble,  or  cocked  hat,  with  six 
flattened  sides  instead  of  a circular  surface.  There  are 
but  few  small  windows  and  two  low  shabby  entrances. 
The  whole  structure  is  so  dingy  and  unattractive  that  we 
stand  before  it  in  wonder.  Can  this  be  the  place  where 
‘‘Hamlet,”  “The  Merchant  of  Venice,”  and  “Julius 
Caesar  ” are  put  on  the  stage ! 

Our  amazement  on  stepping  inside  is  even  greater. 
The  first  thing  that  astonishes  us  is  the  blue  sky  over  our 
The  Globe  heads.  The  building  has  no  roof  except  a 
Theatre:  narrow  strip  around  the  edge  and  a covering 

the  in-  at  the  rear  over  the  back  part  of  the  stage. 

The  front  of  the  stage  and  the  whole  center  of 
the  theatre  is  open  to  the  air.  Now  we  see  how  the  in 


210 


The  Globe  Theatre 


Interior  of  an  Elizabethan  Theatre 

Godfrey’s  reconstruction  of  the  Fortune  Theatre 


The  Theatre. 


terior  is  lighted,  though  with  the  sunshine  must  often  come 
rain  and  sleet  and  London  fog.  Looking  up  and  out  at 
the  clouds  floating  by,  we  notice  that  a flag  is  flying  from 
a short  pole  on  the  roof  over  the  stage.  This  is  most  im- 
portant, for  it  is  announcing  to  the  city  across  the  river 
that  this  afternoon  there  is  to  be  a play.  It  is  bill-board, 
newspaper  notice,  and  advertisement  in  one  : and  we  may 
imagine  the  eagerness  with  which  it  is  looked  for  among 
the  theatre-loving  populace  of  these  later  Elizabethan 
years.  When  the  performance  begins  the  flag  will  be 
lowered  to  proclaim  to  all  that  “ the  play  is  on.” 

Where,  now,  shall  we  sit  ? Before  us  on  the  ground 
level  is  a large  open  space,  which  corresponds  to  the 
orchestra  circle  on  the  floor  of  a modern  play- 

beating  ax- 

house.  But  here  there  is  only  the  flat  bare  rangements 

earth,  trodden  down  hard,  with  rushes  and  in  the 

straw  scattered  over  it.  There  is  not  a sign  tJieatre : 

. the  pit. 

of  a seat!  This  is  the  “ yard,”  or,  as  it  is 
sometimes  called,  “ the  pit,”  where,  by  paying  a penny  or 
two,  London  apprentices,  sailors,  laborers,  and  the  mixed 
crowd  from  the  streets  may  stand  jostling  together.  Some 
of  the  more  enterprising  ones  may  possibly  sit  on  boxes 
and  stools  which  they  bring  into  the  building  with  them. 
Among  these  “ groundlings  ” there  will  surely  be  bustling 
confusion,  noisy  wrangling,  and  plenty  of  danger  from 
pickpockets ; so  we  look  about  us  to  find  a more  comfort- 
able place  from  which  to  watch  the  performance. 

On  three  sides  of  us,  and  extending  well  around  the 
stage,  are  three  tiers  of  narrow  balconies.  In  The 
some  places  these  are  divided  into  compart-  balconies 
ments,  or  boxes.  The  prices  here  are  higher,  and  boxes, 
varying  from  a few  pennies  to  half  a crown,  according  to 

21 1 


Appendix. 


the  location.  By  putting  our  money  into  a box  held  out  to 
us,  — there  are  no  tickets, — we  are  allowed  to  climb  the 
crooked  wooden  stairs  to  one  of  these  compartments. 
Here  we  find  rough  benches  and  chairs,  and  above  all  a 
little  seclusion  from  the  throng  of  men  and  boys  below. 
Along  the  edge  of  the  stage  we  observe  that  there  are 
stools,  but  these  places,  elevated  and  facing  the  audience, 
seem  rather  conspicuous,  and  besides  the  prices  are  high. 
They  will  be  taken  by  the  young  gallants  and  men  of 
fashion  of  London,  in  brave  and  brilliant  clothes,  with 
light  swords  at  their  belts,  wide  ruffled  collars  about  their 
necks,  and  gay  plumes  in  their  hats.  It  will  be  amusing 
to  see  them  show  off  their  fine  apparel,  and  display  their 
wit  at  the  expense  of  the  groundlings  in  the  pit,  and  even 
of  the  actors  themselves.  We  are  safer,  however,  and 
much  more  comfortable  here  in  the  balcony  among  the 
more  sober,  quiet  gentlemen  of  London,  who  with  me- 
chanics, tradesmen,  nobles,  and  shop-keepers  have  come 
to  see  the  play. 

The  moment  we  entered  the  theatre  we  were  impressed 
by  the  size  of  the  stage.  Looking  down  upon  it  from  the 

balcony,  it  seems  even  larger  and  very  near  us. 

me  Suctjcre* 

If  it  is  like  the  stage  of  the  Fortune  it  is  square, 
as  shown  in  the  illustration  facing  page  210.  Here  in 
the  Globe  it  is  probably  narrower  at  the  front  than  at 
the  back,  tapering  from  the  rear  wall  almost  to  a point. 
Whatever  its  shape,  it  is  only  a roughly-built,  high  platform, 
open  on  three  sides,  and  extending  halfway  into  the 
“yard.”  Though  a low  railing  runs  about  its  edge,  there 
are  no  footlights,  — all  performances  are  in  the  afternoon 
by  the  light  of  day  which  streams  down  through  the  open 
top,  — and  strangest  of  all  there  is  no  curtain,  At  each 

21% 


The  Theatre. 


side  of  the  rear  we  can  see  a door  that  leads  to  the  “ tir- 
ing-rooms,” where  the  actors  dress,  and  from  which  they 
make  their  entrances.  These  are  the  “green-rooms  ” and 
wings  of  our  theatre  to-day.  Between  the  doors  is  a cur- 
tain that  now  before  the  play  begins  is  drawn  together. 
Later  when  it  is  pulled  aside,  — not  upward  as  cur- 
tains usually  are  now,  — we  shall  see  a shallow  recess  or 
alcove  which  serves  as  a secondary,  or  inner  stage.  Over 
this  extends  a narrow  balcony  covered  by  a roof  which  is 
supported  at  the  front  corners  by  two  columns  that  stand 
well  out  from  the  wall.  Still  higher  up,  over  the  inner 
stage,  is  a sort  of  tower,  sometimes  called  the  “ hut,”  and 
from  a pole  on  this  the  flag  is  flying  which  summons  the 
London  populace  from  across  the  Thames.  Rushes  are 
strewn  over  the  floor ; there  are  no  drops  or  wings  or 
walls  of  painted  scenery.  In  its  simplicity  and  bareness 
it  reminds  us  of  the  rude  stage  of  the  strolling  players. 
Indeed,  the  whole  interior  of  the  building  seems  to  be  but 
an  adaptation  of  the  tavern-yard  and  village-green. 

How,  we  wonder,  can  a play  like  “Julius  Caesar”  or 
“The  Merchant  of  Venice”  be  staged  on  such  a crude 
affair  as  this  ! What  are  the  various  parts  of 
it  for  ? Practically  all  acting  is  done,  we  shall  Jse. of 
see,  on  the  front  of  the  platform  well  out 
among  the  crowd  in  the  pit,  with  the  audience  on  three 
sides  of  the  performers.  All  but-of-door  scenes  will  be 
acted  here,  from  a conversation  in  the  streets  of  Venice  or 
a dialogue  in  a garden,  to  a battle,  a procession,  or  a 
banquet  in  the  Forest  of  Arden.  Here,  too,  with  but  the 
slightest  alteration,  or  even  with  no  change  at  all,  interior 
scenes  will  be  presented.  With  the  “ groundlings  ” 
crowded  close  up  to  its  edges,  and  with  young  gallants 

213 


Appendix. 


sitting  on  its  sides,  this  outer  stage  comes  close  to  the 
people.  On  it  will  be  all  the  main  action  of  the  drama : 
the  various  arrangements  at  the  rear  are  for  supplemen- 
tary purposes  and  certain  important  effects. 

The  inner  stage,  or  alcove  beyond  the  curtain,  is  used 
in  many  ways.  It  may  serve  for  any  room  somewhat 
removed  from  the  scene  of  action,  such  as  a 
inner  stage  Passage_way  or  a study.  It  often  is  made  to 
represent  a cave,  a shop,  or  a prison.  Here 
Othello,  in  a frenzy  of  jealous  passion,  strangles  Desde- 
mona  as  she  lies  in  bed ; here  probably  the  ghost  of  Cae- 
sar appears  to  Brutus  in  his  tent  on  the  plains  of  Philippi ; 
here  stand  the  three  fateful  caskets  in  the  mansion  at  Bel- 
mont, as  we  see  by  Portia’s  words, 

“ Go,  draw  aside  the  curtains , and  discover 
The  several  caskets  to  this  noble  Prince.” 

Tableaux  and  scenes  within  scenes,  such  as  the  short 
play  in  “ Hamlet  ” by  which  the  prince  “ catches  the  con- 
science of  the  king,”  are  acted  in  this  recess.  But  the 
most  important  use  is  to  give  the  effect  of  a change  of 
scene.  By  drawing  apart  and  closing  the  curtain,  with  a 
few  simple  changes  of  properties  in  this  inner  compart- 
ment, a different  background  is  possible.  By  such  a slight 
variation  of  setting  at  the  reap,  the  platform  in  the  pit  is 
transformed,  by  the  quick  imagination  of  the  spectators, 
from  a field  or  a street  to  a castle  hall  or  a wood.  Thus, 
the  whole  stage  becomes  the  Forest  of  Arden  by  the  use  of 
a little  greenery  in  the  distance.  Similarly,  a few  trees  and 
shrubs  at  the  rear  of  the  inner  stage,  when  the  curtain  is 
thrown  aside,  will  change  the  setting  from  the  court-room 
in  the  fourth  act  of  “ The  Merchant  of  Venice,”  to  the 

214 


The  Theatre. 


scene  in  the  garden  at  Belmont  which  immediately 
follows. 

The  balcony  over  the  inner  stage  serves  an  important 
purpose,  too.  With  the  windows,  which  are  often  just 
over  the  doors  leading  to  the  tiring-rooms,  it 
gives  the  effect  of  an  upper  story  in  a house,  balcony 
of  walls  in  a castle,  a tower,  or  any  elevated  over  the 
position.  This  is  the  place,  of  course,  where  sta£e- 
Juliet  comes  to  greet  Romeo  who  is  in  the  garden  below. 
In  “ Julius  Caesar  ” when  Cassius  says, 

“ Go  Pindar  us,  get  higher  on  that  hill; 

And  tell  me  what  thou  notest  about  the  field,” 

the  soldier  undoubtedly  climbs  to  the  balcony,  for  a mo- 
ment later,  looking  abroad  over  the  field  of  battle,  he  re- 
ports to  Cassius  what  he  sees  from  his  elevation.  Here 
Jessica  appears  when  Lorenzo  calls  under  Shylock’s  win- 
dows, “ Ho  ! who’s  within  ? ” and  on  this  balcony  she  is 
standing  when  she  throws  down  to  her  lover  a box  of  her 
father’s  jewels.  “ Here,  catch  this  casket ; it  is  worth  the 
pains,”  she  says,  and  retires  into  the  house,  appearing 
below  a moment  later  to  run  away  with  Lorenzo  and  his 
masquerading  companions. 

Besides  these  simple  devices,  if  we  look  closely  enough 
we  shall  see  a trap-door,  or  perhaps  two,  in  the  platform. 
These  are  for  the  entrance  of  apparitions  and  demons. 
They  correspond,  in  a way,  to  the  balcony  by 
giving  the  effect  of  a place  lower  than  the  stage 
level.  Thus  in  the  first  scene  of  “ The  Tem- 
pest,” which  takes  place  in  a storm  at  sea,  the  notion 
of  a ship  may  be  suggested  to  the  audience  by  sailors 

215 


Appendix. 


entering  from  the  trap-door,  as  they  might  come  up  a 
hatchway  to  a deck.  If  it  is  a play  with  gods  and 
goddesses  and  spirits,  we  may  be  startled  to  see  them 
appear  and  disappear  through  the  air.  Evidently  there 
is  machinery  of  some  sort  in  the  hut  over  the  balcony 
which  can  be  used  for  lowering  and  raising  deities  and 
creatures  that  live  above  the  earth.  On  each  side  of  the 
stage  is  a flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  balcony.  These  are 
often  covered,  as  plainly  shown  by  Mr.  Godfrey’s  reconstruc- 
tion of  the  Fortune  Theatre  facing  page  210.  Here  sit 
councils,  senates,  and  princes  with  their  courts.  Macbeth 
uses  them  to  give  the  impression  of  ascending  to  an  upper 
chamber  when  he  goes  to  kill  the  king,  and  down  them  he 
rushes  to  his  wife  after  he  has  committed  the  fearful  murder. 

What  astonishes  us  most,  however,  is  the  absence  of 
scenery.  To  be  sure,  some  slight  attempt  has  been  made 
to  create  scenic  illusion.  There  are,  perhaps, 
the^tage11  a ^ew  trees  anc*  boulders,  a table,  a chair  or 
two,  and  pasteboard  dishes  of  food.  But 
there  is  little  more.  In  the  only  drawing  of  the  interior  of 
an  Elizabethan  theatre  that  has  been  preserved,  — a sketch 
of  the  Swan  made  in  1596,  — the  stage  has  absolutely  no 
furniture  except  one  plain  bench  on  which  one  of  the  actors 
is  sitting.  Here  before  us  in  the  Globe  the  walls  may  be 
covered  with  loose  tapestries,  black  if  the  play  is  to  be  a 
tragedy,  blue  if  a comedy  ; but  it  is  quite  possible  that 
they  are  entirely  bare.  A placard  on  one  of  the  pillars 
announces  that  the  stage  is  now  a street  in  Venice,  now  a 
courtroom,  now  the  hall  of  a stately  mansion.  It  may  be 
that  the  Prologue,  or  even  the  actors  themselves,  will  tell 
•us  at  the  opening  of  an  act  just  where  the  scene  is  laid 
and  what  we  are  to  imagine  the  platform  to  represent. 

2l6 


The  Theatre, 


In  “Henry  V,”  for  instance,  the  Prologue  at  the  begin- 
ning not  only  explains  the  setting  of  the  play,  but  asks 
forgiveness  of  the  audience  for  attempting  to  put  on  the 
stage  armies  and  battles  and  the  “ vasty  fields  of  France.” 

“ But  pardon,  gentles  all, 

The  flat  unrais£d  spirit  that  hath  dared 
On  this  unworthy  scaffold  to  bring  forth 
So  great  an  object.  Can  this  cockpit  hold 
The  vasty  fields  of  France  ? or  may  we  cram 
Within  this  vvooden  O the  very  casques 
That  did  affright  the  air  at  Agincourt  ? 

O,  pardon ! since  a crooked  figure  may 
Attest  in  little  place  a million  ; 

And  let  us,  ciphers  to  this  great  accompt, 

On  your  imaginary  forces  work. 

Suppose  within  the  girdle  of  these  walls 
Are  now  confined  two  mighty  monarchies, 

Whose  high-uprear£d  and  abutting  fronts 
The  perilous,  narrow  ocean  parts  asunder. 

Piece  out  our  imperfections  with  your  thoughts ; 

Into  a thousand  parts  divide  one  man, 

And  make  imaginary  puissance. 

Think,  when  we  talk  of  horses,  that  you  see  them 
Printing  their  proud  hoofs  i’  the  receiving  earth, 

For  ’tis  your  thoughts  that  now  must  deck  our  kings, 
Carry  them  here  and  there,  jumping  o’er  times, 
Turning  the  accomplishment  of  many  years 
Into  an  hour-glass.” 

In  “ As  You  Like  It  ” it  is  an  actor  who  tells  us  at  the 
opening  of  the  second  act  that  we  are  now  to  imagine  the 
Forest  of  Arden  before  us.  In  the  first  sentence  which 

217 


Appendix. 


the  banished  Duke  speaks,  he  says,  “ Are  not  these  woods 
more  free  from  peril  than  the  envious  court  ? ” and  a mo- 
ment later,  when  Touchstone  and  the  runaway  maidens 
first  enter  the  woods,  Rosalind  exclaims,  “ Well,  this  is 
the  Forest  of  Arden  ! ” A hint,  a reference,  a few  simple 
contrivances,  a placard  or  two,  — these  are  enough. 
“ Imaginary  forces  ” are  here  in  the  audience  keenly  alive, 
and  they  will  do  the  rest.  By  means  of  them,  without  the 
illusion  of  scenery,  the  bare  wooden  stage  will  become  a 
ship,  a garden,  a palace,  a London  tavern.  Whole  armies 
will  enter  and  retire  by  a single  door.  Battles  will  rage, 
royal  processions  pass  in  and  out,  graves  will  be  dug, 
lovers  will  woo,  — and  all  with  hardly  an  important  alter- 
ation of  the  setting.  Lack  of  scenery  does  not  limit  the 
type  of  scenes  that  can  be  presented.  On  the  contrary, 
it  gives  almost  unlimited  opportunities  to  the  dramatist, 
for  the  spectators,  in  the  force  and  freshness  of  their  im- 
agination, are  children  who  willingly  “ play  ” that  the  stage 
is  anything  the  author  suggests.  Their  youthful  enthusi- 
asm, their  simple  tastes,  above  all  their  lack  of  knowledge 
of  anything  different,  give  them  the  enviable  power  of  imag- 
ining the  grandest,  most  beautiful,  and  most  varied  scenes 
on  the  same  bare,  unadorned  boards.  Apparently  they 
are  well  satisfied  with  their  stage ; for  it  is  not  until 
nearly  fifty  years  after  Shakespeare’s  death  that  movable 
scenery  is  used  in  an  English  theatre. 

It  is  now  three  o’clock  and  time  for  the  performance  to 
begin.  Among  the  motley  crowd  of  men  and  boys  in  the 
The  per-  yard  there  is  no  longer  room  for  another  box 
formanceof  or  stool.  They  are  evidently  growing  im- 
a play.  patient  and  jostle  together  in  noisy  confusion. 
Suddenly  three  long  blasts  on  a trumpet  sound.  The 

2l8 


The  Theatre. 


mutterings  in  the  pit  subside,  and  all  eyes  turn  toward 
the  stage.  First  an  actor,  clothed  in  a black  mantle  and 
wearing  a laurel  wreath  on  his  head,  comes  from  behind 
the  curtain  and  recites  the  prologue.  From  it  we  learn 
something  of  the  story  of  the  play  to  follow,  and  possibly 
a little  about  the  scene  of  action.  This  is  all  very  wel- 
come, for  we  have  no  programs  and  the  plot  of  the  drama 
is  unfamiliar.  In  a minute  or  two  the  Prologue  retires 
and  the  actors  of  the  first  scene  enter.  We  are  soon  im- 
pressed by  the  rapidity  with  which  the  play  moves  on. 
There  is  little  stage  “ business  ” ; though  there  may  be 
some  music  between  the  acts,  still  there  are  no  long  waits  ; 
one  scene  follows  another  as  quickly  as  the  actors  can 
make  their  exits  and  entrances.  The  whole  play,  there- 
fore, does  not  last  much  over  two  hours.  At  the  close 
there  is  an  epilogue,  spoken  by  one  of  the  actors,  after 
which  the  players  kneel  and  join  in  a prayer  for  the 
queen.  Then  comes  a final  bit  of  amusement  for  the 
groundlings : the  clown,  or  some  other  comic  character  of 
the  company,  sings  a popular  song,  dances  a brisk  and 
boisterous  jig,  and  the  performance  of  the  day  is  done. 

During  our  novel  experience  this  afternoon  at  the 
Globe,  nothing  has  probably  surprised  us  more  than  the 
elaborate  and  gorgeous  costumes  of  the  actors,  costumes 
At  a time  when  so  little  attention  is  paid  to  of  the 
scenery  we  naturally  expect  to  find  the  dress  actors* 
of  the  players  equally  simple  and  plain.  But  we  are 
mistaken.  The  costumes,  to  be  sure,  make  little  or  no 
pretension  to  fit  the  period  or  place  of  action.  Caesar 
appears  in  clothes  such  as  are  worn  by  a duke  or  an  earl 
in  1601.  “They  are  the  ordinary  dresses  of  various 
classes  of  the  day,  but  they  are  often  of  rich  material,  and 

219 


Appendix. 


in  the  height  of  current  fashion.  False  hair  and  beards, 
crowns  and  sceptres,  mitres  and  croziers,  armour,  hel- 
mets, shields,  vizors,  and  weapons  of  war,  hoods,  bands, 
and  cassocks,  are  relied  on  to  indicate  among  the  charac- 
ters differences  of  rank  or  profession.  The  foreign  ob- 
server, Thomas  Platter  of  Basle,  was  impressed  by  the 
splendor  of  the  actors’  costumes.  ‘ The  players  wear  the 
most  costly  and  beautiful  dresses,  for  it  is  the  custom  in 
England,  that  when  noblemen  or  knights  die,  they  leave 
their  finest  clothes  to  their  servants,  who,  since  it  would 
not  be  fitting  for  them  to  wear  such  splendid  garments, 
sell  them  soon  afterwards  to  the  players  for  a small 
sum.’ ”*  But  no  money  is  spared  to  secure  the  fitting  gar- 
ment for  an  important  part.  Indeed,  it  is  quite  probable 
that  more  is  paid  for  a king’s  velvet  robe  or  a prince’s 
silken  doublet  than  is  given  to  the  author  for  the  play 
itself.  Whether  the  elaborate  costumes  are  appropriate 
or  not,  their  general  effect  is  pleasing,  for  they  give  variety 
and  brilliant  color  to  the  bare  and  unattractive  stage. 

If  we  are  happily  surprised  by  the  costuming  of  the 
play,  what  shall  we  say  of  the  actors  who  take  the  female 
Female  parts  ! They  are  very  evidently  not  women,  or 
parts  taken  even  girls,  but  boys  whose  voices  have  not 
by  boys.  changed,  dressed,  tricked  out,  and  trained  to 
appear  as  feminine  as  possible.  It  is  considered  un- 
seemly for  a woman  to  appear  on  a public  stage,  — in- 
deed, the  professional  actress  does  not  exist  and  will  not 
be  seen  in  an  English  theatre  for  nearly  a century. 
Meanwhile  plays  are  written  with  few  female  parts  (re- 
member “ The  Merchant  of  Venice,”  “ Julius  Caesar,”  and 
“ Macbeth  ”)  and  young  boys  are  trained  to  take  these 

l Sidney  Lee : “ Shakespeare  and  the  Modern  Stage,”  page  41. 

220 


The  Theatre. 


roles.  The  theatregoers  seem  to  enjoy  the  performance 
just  as  much  as  we  do  to-day  with  mature  and  accom- 
plished actresses  on  the  stage.  Shakespeare  and  his 
fellow  dramatists  treated  the  situation  with  good  grace  or 
indifference.  Thus  in  the  epilogue  of  “ As  You  Like  It  ” 
Rosalind  says  to  the  audience,  “ If  I were  a woman  I would 
kiss  as  many  of  you  as  had  beards  that  pleased  me.”  The 
jest,  of  course,  consists  in  the  fact  that  she  is  not  a woman 
at  all,  but  a stripling.  In  a more  tragic  vein  Cleopatra, 
before  she  dies,  complains  that  “ the  quick  comedians  . . . 
will  stage  us,  . . . and  I shall  see  some  squeaking  Cleopatra 
boy  my  greatness.”  It  may  be  that  the  boys  who  take  the 
women’s  parts  this  afternoon  wear  masks  to  make  them 
seem  less  masculine,  though  how  that  can  improve  the 
situation  it  is  difficult  to  understand.  There  is  an  amus- 
ing reference  to  this  practice  in  “A  Midsummer  Night’s 
Dream.”  When  Flute,  the  bellows-mender,  is  assigned  a 
part  in  the  drama  which  the  mechanics  of  Athens  are 
rehearsing,  he  exclaims,  “ Nay,  faith,  let  me  not  play  a 
woman  ; I have  a beard  coming  ” ; to  which  protest  Quince 
replies,  “ That’s  all  one : you  shall  play  it  in  a mask , and 
you  may  speak  as  small  as  you  will.” 

Though  rapid  action,  brilliant  costumes,  and,  above  all, 
the  force  and  beauty  of  the  lines,  may  lead  us  to  forget 
that  the  heroine  is  only  a boy,  it  is  more  diffi-  The 
cult  to  keep  our  attention  from  being  distracted  audience 
by  the  audience  around  us.  It  surprises  us  at  the 
that  there  are  so  few  women  present.  We  Globe‘ 
notice,  too,  that  many  of  those  who  have  come  wear  a 
mask  of  silk  or  velvet  over  their  faces.  Evidently  it  is 
hardly  the  proper  thing  for  a respectable  woman  to  be 
seen  in  a public  theatre.  The  people  in  the  balconies  are 

221 


Appendix. 


fairly  orderly,  but  below  in  the  pit  the  crowd  is  restless, 
noisy,  and  at  times  even  boisterous.  Bricklayers,  dock- 
laborers,  apprentices,  serving-men,  and  idlers  stand  in 
jostling  confusion.  There  are  no  police  and  no  laws  that 
are  enforced.  Pickpockets  ply  an  active  trade.  One, 
we  see,  has  been  caught  and  is  bound  to  the  railing  at  the 
edge  of  the  stage  where  he  is  an  object  of  coarse  jests  and 
ridicule.  Refreshment-sellers  push  about  in  the  throng 
with  apples  and  sausages,  nuts  and  ale.  There  is  much 
eating  and  drinking  and  plenty  of  smoking.  On  the  stage 
the  gallants  are  a constant  source  of  bother  to  the  players. 
They  interrupt  the  Prologue,  criticise  the  dress  of  the 
hero,  banter  the  heroine,  and  joke  with  the  clown. 
Even  here  in  the  gallery  we  can  hear  their  comments  — 
far  from  flattering  — upon  a scene  that  does  not  please 
them  ; when  a little  later  they  applaud,  their  praises  are 
just  as  vigorous.  Once  it  seems  as  though  the  play  is 
going  to  be  brought  to  a standstill  by  a wrangling  quarrel 
between  one  of  these  rakish  gentlemen  and  a group  of 
groundlings  near  the  stage.  Their  attention,  however,  is 
taken  by  the  entrance  of  the  leading  actor  declaiming  a 
stirring  passage,  and  their  differences  are  soon  forgotten. 
It  is,  on  the  whole,  a good-natured  rough  crowd  of  the 
common  people,  the  lower  and  middle  classes  from  the 
great  city  across  the  river,  — more  like  the  crowd  one  sees 
to-day  at  a circus  or  a professional  ball-game  than  at  a 
theatre  of  the  highest  type.  They  loudly  cheer  the  clown’s 
final  song  and  dance,  and  then  with  laughter,  shouting, 
and  jesting  they  pour  out  of  the  yard  and  in  a moment 
the  building  is  empty.  The  play  is  over  until  to-morrow 
afternoon. 

What  a contrast  it  all  has  been  to  a play  in  a theatre  of 
222 


The  Theatre. 


the  twentieth  century  ! When  we  think  of  the  uncomfort- 
able benches,  the  flat  bare  earth  of  the  pit,  the  lack  of 
scenery,  footlights,  and  drop  curtains ; when  we  hear  the 
shrill  voices  of  boys  piping  the  women’s  parts,  and  see 
mist  and  rain  falling  on  spectator’s  heads,  we  are  in- 
clined to  pity  the  playgoer  of  Elizabethan  conclusions 
times.  Yet  he  needs  no  pity.  ‘To  him  the  to  be 
theatre  of  his  day  was  sufficient.  The  drama  drawn* 
enacted  there  was  a source  of  intense  and  genuine  pleas- 
ure. His  keen  enthusiasm;  his  fresh,  youthful  eagerness; 
above  all,  his  highly  imaginative  power,  — far  greater 
than  ours  to-day,  — gave  him  an  ability  to  understand  and 
enjoy  the  poetry  and  dramatic  force  of  Shakespeare’s 
works,  which  we,  with  all  the  improvements  of  our  palatial 
theatres,  cannot  equal.  Crude,  simple,  coarse  as  they 
now  seem  to  us,  we  can  look  back  only  with  admiration 
upon  the  Swan  and  the  Curtain  and  the  Globe;  for  in 
them  “ The  Merchant  of  Venice,”  “ As  You  Like  It,” 
“ Julius  Caesar,”  “ Hamlet,”  and  “Macbeth”  were  re- 
ceived with  acclamations  of  joy  and  wonder.  In  them 
the  genius  of  Shakespeare  was  recognized  and  given  a 
place  in  the  drama  of  England  which  now,  after  three  cen- 
turies have  passed,  it  holds  in  the  theatres  and  in  the 
literature  of  all  the  world. 


223 


BOOKS  OF  INTEREST  TO  STUDENTS  OF 
SHAKESPEARE 

[A  bibliography  of  works  on  Shakespeare  would  make  a 
volume  of  considerable  size.  Here  are  a few  of  the  most 
useful  books  for  students  and  teachers.] 

Our  Fellow  Shakespeare. 

Horace  J.  Bridges.  McClurg  & Co. 
Shakespeare’s  Workmanship. 

Quiller-Couch.  Henry  Holt  & Co. 
Shakespeare  as  a Dramatic  Artist. 

Richard  G.  Moulton.  Clarendon  Press. 
An  Introduction  to  Shakespeare. 

McCrackan,  Pierce,  and  Durham.  The  Macmillan  Co. 
William  Shakespeare : A Critical  Study. 

George  Brandes.  The  Macmillan  Co. 
A Life  of  William  Shakespeare. 

Sidney  Lee.  The  Macmillan  Co. 
The  Fads  about  Shakespeare. 

Neilson  and  Thorndike.  The  Macmillan  Co. 
William  Shakespeare : Poet , Dramatist , and  Man. 

H.  W.  Mabie.  The  Macmillan  Co. 
Shakespeare  and  the  Modern  Stage. 

Sidney  Lee.  Charles  Scribner’s  Sons. 
Introduction  to  Shakespeare. 

Edward  Dowden.  Charles  Scribner’s  Sons. 
Shakespeare . 

Walter  Raleigh.  The  Macmillan  Co. 

224 


Books  of  Interest. 


William  Shakespeare. 

John  Masefield.  Henry  Holt  & Co. 

Shakespeare : The  Boy. 

W.  J.  Rolfe.  Harper  Bros. 

Handbook  to  the  Works  of  Shakespeare. 

Morton  Luce.  George  Bell  and  Sons. 

Shakespeare : His  Life,  Art , and  Characters. 

Rev.  H.  N.  Hudson.  Ginn  & Co. 

Characteristics  of  Shakespeare’s  Women. 

Anna  B.  Jameson.  Houghton  Mifflin  Co. 

Girlhood  of  Shakespeare’s  Heroines. 

Mary  Cowden  Clarke.  Page  & Company. 

Shakespeare’s  England. 

William  Winter.  Moffat,  Yard  & Co. 

Shakespeare’s  Manual. 

F.  G.  Fleay.  The  Macmillan  Co. 

An  interesting  story  of  Shakespeare’s  times  is  Master 
Skylark , by  John  Bennett,  published  by  The  Century 
Company.  Another  is  Will  Shakespeare’s  Little  Lad 
by  I.  Clark.  Chas.  Scribner  & Son. 

Scott’s  Kenilworth  is  a story  of  London  and  Warwick- 
shire in  1575,  and  The  Fortunes  of  Nigel  gives  a good  pic- 
ture of  London  in  1604,  the  year  of  “Othello.” 


225 


NOTES 


ACT  I 
Scene  1 

The  brevity  of  the  first  scene  arrests  then  startles  the  eye  the 
moment  it  rests  upon  the  page.  It  is  by  no  means  a conven- 
tional beginning,  introducing  characters  and  initiating  plot; 
it  must  not  be  looked  upon  as  the  forerunner  of  the  second 
scene ; but,  rather,  as  an  accompaniment  of  it,  — and  an  ac- 
companiment that  had  its  beginnings  before  the  play  opens, 
and  its  real  ending  nowhere  short  of  the  final  denouement. 
That  is,  the  world  of  the  supernatural  is  intoning  its  own  hol- 
low music  while  all  the  other  tunes  of  the  play,  — the  martial 
strains,  the  songs  of  feasting,  the  tender  tunes  of  intimate  love 
and  solicitude,  — are  singing  themselves  one  after  another. 
Realize  that  the  conflict  between  the  two  armies  has  been  rag- 
ing all  day ; hear  the  din  of  arms ; go,  in  thought,  as  the  witches 
have  been  going  all  day,  back  and  forth  between  their  hidden 
place  of  meeting  and  the  place  where  Macbeth  has  met  foe  after 
foe ; remember  that  in  those  days  men  fought  in  the  light  of 
day  only,  — and  this  day  is  evidently  toward  its  end ; feel  the 
evil  solicitude  of  the  witches  hovering  “ through  the  fog  and 
filthy  air,”  and  their  ominous  determination  to  meet  the  suc- 
cessful Macbeth  as  he  comes  back  to  his  camp,  bearing  with 
him  a victor’s  heart  in  which,  their  supernatural  power  told 
them,  were  all  possibilities  of  good  and  evil.  See  how  that 
evenly  swaying  balance  between  good  and  evil  is  suggested  by 
“ When  the  battle’s  lost  — and  won,”  and,  “ Fair  is  foul,  and 
foul  is  fair.”  Sense  the  delight  of  the  evil  spirits  in  the  thun- 
der and  lightning,  — “fair”  to  them;  see  them  now  sharply 
outlined  by  a vivid  flash  and  now  hazy  and  gray  in  the  dark- 
ness after;  then  when  the  roll  of  the  thunder  has  died  away, 
hear  again  that  faint  sound  of  arms,  followed  by  the  staccato 

227 


Notes. 


Act  I,  Scene  1. 


note,  “ Macbeth,”  spoken  by  a witch,  — and  by  such  a witch 
as  can  in  her  very  next  speech  answer  the  call  of  her  companion  to 
some  errand  of  mischief  with  a ready  “ Anon ! ” Get  the  full 
force  of  the  vanishing  of  the  three,  with  a threat  and  a trium- 
phant boast  that  whatever  is  evil  to  men  is  good  to  them,  what 
is  good  to  men  — as  the  great  success  of  the  soldier  Macbeth  — 
is  to  them  great  opportunity,  invitation,  to  work  havoc.  Is 
there  not  here,  crowded  into  the  small  space  of  ten  lines,  a mar- 
velous background,  an  unbroken  atmosphere  of  tragedy,  an 
awakened  interest  in  the  hero,  and  an  unbounded  pity  already 
bespoken  for  him  when  he  meets  these  instruments  of  darkness 
“ upon  the  heath  ” “ ere  the  set  of  sun”?  The  keynote  of  the 
whole  drama  is  struck,  — and  struck  boldly.  Now  let  confu- 
sion work  her  masterpiece ! No  other  play  of  Shakespeare’s 
opens  so  vividly,  so  compellingly,  unless  perhaps  “ Hamlet,”  — 
and  is  that,  even,  so  poignantly  dramatic?  Can  the  second 
scene  open  quickly  enough  to  satisfy  the  aroused  interest?  Is 
not  the  real  test  of  the  perfection  of  any  first  scene  fully  met? 

The  meter  of  the  first  scene  is  an  interesting  study.  When- 
ever Shakespeare  varied  his  iambic  pentameter,  he  did  so  for 
some  sufficient  reason.  He  makes  the  supernatural  beings 
talk  a different  measure  from  the  human,  just  as,  later  on,  he 
will  make  a drunken  porter  jibber  and  joke  in  jerky  prose.  The 
speeches  were  written  to  be  spoken  on  the  stage,  and  such  vari- 
ations have  there  their  full  effect.  The  meter  of  this  scene  is 
the  iambic  four-accent  or  tetrameter  line.  Apparent  irregu- 
larities disappear  when  read  aloud.  “ Where  the  place  ” 
“ Upon  the  heath  ” makes  one  line,  for  example.  In  the  eighth 
line  there  is  an  apparent  irregularity;  but  we  may  give  double 
stress  to  the  word  “ meet,”  making  it  almost  a word  of  two  syl- 
lables, or  we  may  say  “ Ma-acbeth  ” to  give  tone  and  volume 
to  the  one  name  of  significance  in  the  whole  scene.  Editors 
in  the  past  — as  far  back  as  Johnson’s  day  — have  had  their 
various  ways  of  filling  out  the  line : 

“ There  to  meet  with  great  Macbeth,” 

“ There  to  meet  and  greet  Macbeth,” 

“ There  to  meet  with  thane  Macbeth,” 

228 


Act  I,  Scene  1 


Notes. 


and  even,  “ There  to  meet  with  thee,  Macbeth,”  which,  of 
course,  in  its  assumed  direct  personal  attack  upon  Macbeth 
spoils  the  fine  impersonality  of  the  witches.  Steevens  suggests 
that  the  third  witch’s  speech  was  interrupted  by  a question, 
thus : 

“ There  to  meet  with  — 

Another  Witch:  Whom? 

Third  Witch:  Macbeth.” 

The  ninth  and  tenth  lines,  again,  make  a complete  whole,  and 
“ Anon  ” throws  itself  out  of  the  scheme.  “ Hover  ” must  be 
softened  into  one  syllable  — “ ho’er,”  as  we  commonly  say 
o’er  and  e’er.  The  rhyming  couplet  in  &nes  eleven  and  twelve  is 
the  usual  one  at  the  end  of  a scene  in  the  Elizabethan  theatre 

where  there  was  no  curtain  to  fall  and  the  flourish  of  an  un- 

expected rhyme  covered  gracefully  the  exit  of  the  characters. 

8.  Graymalkin : old  cat. 

9.  Paddock : toad,  or  frog.  These  are  the  demons  who  con- 

trol the  witches,  — their  governing  spirits  who,  for  the  pur- 
poses of  communication,  must  take  some  tangible  form,  as  cat 
or  frog.  We  do  not  hear  their  voices,  but  the  witches  do  — 
“ Paddock  calls,”  one  says  — and  the  reflection  that  Mac- 
beth’s fate  is  in  the  power  of  a supernatural  being  who,  her- 
self, is  in  the  power  of  a mere  toad  or  gray  malkin  intensifies 

the  awfulness  of  the  hero’s  situation,  when  his  career  is  arrested, 
by  such  diabolical  interference. 

DISCUSSION 

Name  five  points  that  make  this  scene  dramatic.  Comment 
upon  the  character  contrasts  suggested  between  the  three 
witches;  and  between  the  supernatural  beings  seen  and  those 
unseen.  Name  five  points  that  make  the  scene  a perfect  open- 
ing for  the  play.  Were  you  a producer,  how  would  you  make 
the  scene  effective  as  to  drop,  setting,  lighting,  costuming? 
Why  would  anything  less  than  medieval  barbaric  ruggedness 
of  setting  spoil  the  atmosphere?  How  much  time  would  the 
scene  take  in  the  actual  performing?  Would  you  retain  it  or 
discard  it  as  making  too  many  demands  for  the  time  it  requires? 

22Q 


Notes, 


Act  I,  Scene  2 


ACT  I 
Scene  2 

One,  J.  Coleman,  in  The  Gentleman's  Magazine  for  March, 
1889,  writes:  “Amongst  the  scenic  effects  of  Kean’s  re- 
vival of  Macbeth  at  the  Princess’s  Theatre,  I recall  with 
pleasure  Duncan’s  camp  at  Forres.  The  scene  was  discovered 
in  night  and  silence,  a couple  of  semi-savage  armed  kerns  were 
on  guard,  prowling  to  and  fro  with  stealthy  steps.  A distant 
trumpet-call  was  heard,  another  in  reply,  another,  and  yet  an- 
other; a roll  of  the  drum  — an  alarum.  In  an  instant  the 
whole  camp  was  alive  with  kerns  and  gallowglasses,  who  circled 
round  the  old  king  and  the  princes  of  the  blood.  The  Bleeding 
Sergeant  was  carried  in  upon  a litter,  and  the  scene  was  illumi- 
nated with  the  ruddy  glare  of  burning  pine-knots.” 

The  king,  Duncan,  in  absenting  himself  from  the  battle,  in 
not  feeling  any  too  great  anxiety  about  its  outcome,  in  speak- 
ing his  inquiries  in  somewhat  stilted  fashion,  serves  a fine 
dramatic  purpose  — that  of  bringing  the  hero  to  the  front  as 
much  better  material  for  a king.  The  dramatist  must  through 
this  scene  increase  interest  in  his  hero ; and  the  first  step  is  ac- 
complished when  we  feel  his  strength  and  virility  in  comparison 
with  his  helpless,  colorless  cousin,  Duncan.  Malcolm,  the 
king’s  son,  is  also  unsatisfactory,  — taken  prisoner  in  the  fight, 
set  free  by  a sergeant,  brought  back  of  the  battle  line  to  a place 
of  safety,  — unworthy  of  the  crown.  Remembering  that  Mac- 
beth and  Duncan  were  first  cousins,  both  grandsons  of  the  old 
king  Malcolm,  having  equal  right  to  the  throne,  we  find  our- 
selves involuntarily  hailing  Macbeth,  all  through  the  scene,  as 
the  one  who  should  be  “ king  hereafter.” 

1.  bloody  man : one  editor’s  splendid  comment  on  this  is : 
“ The  word  ‘ bloody  ’ appears  on  almost  every  page,  and  runs 
like  a red  thread  through  the  whole  piece ; in  no  other  of  Shake- 
speare’s dramas  is  it  so  frequent.”  — Bodenstedt. 

230 


Act  I,  Scene  2. 


Notes. 


9.  Macdonwald : this  rebellious  spirit  seemed  to  have  had 
some  of  our  feeling  to-day  against  a king  like  Duncan.  He 
called  him,  in  the  chronicle,  a “ faynt  harted  mylksop,  more 
meete  to  govern  a sort  of  idle  monkes  in  some  cloyster  than  to 
have  ye  rule  of  such  valiant  and  hardy  men  as  the  Scottes  were.” 
Holinshed,  however,  called  these  “ slanderous  words.” 

12.  western  isles  : Ireland,  and  the  islands  north. 

13.  kerns  and  gallowglasses : kerns  were  light-armed  troops, 
carrying  only  daggers ; gallowglasses  wore  coats  of  mail,  hel- 
mets, long  swords,  and  the  famous  gallowglass  axes. 

19.  minion : darling.  The  word  marked  a sharp  contrast 

to  “ Fortune-smiling  ” that  shows  that  Macbeth  puts  his  trust 
not  in  luck,  but  in  valor. 

21.  Which:  for  who,  as  occasionally  in  the  plays,  referring 
to  Macbeth. 

21.  ne’er  shook  hands : the  rebel  died  without  asking  par- 
don, and  Macbeth’s  rage  and  contempt  could  allow  none  of  the 
courtesies  often  accorded  a dying  foe. 

22.  nave : navel.  In  ancient  lore  which  Shakespeare  knew, 
there  are  frequent  accounts  of  such  barbaric  blows ; as,  in 
Nash’s  play,  “ Dido,  Queen  of  Carthage  ” : “ Then  from  the  navel 
to  the  throat  at  once  he  ript  old  Priam.” 

25.  As  whence  the  Sun : meaning,  the  same  spring  days 
give  us  both  sunshine  and  storm.  If  we  give  reflection  its  Latin 
meaning  of  “ turning  back,”  it  would  mean  the  turning  back 
of  the  sun  at  the  spring  equinox. 

31.  surveying  vantage  : seeing  his  opportunity. 

32.  furbished  : freshly  gleaming,  untarnished. 

35.  Yes,  As  sparrows  eagles : the  irony  of  the  sergeant  is  de- 
lightful. 

39.  bathe  in  reeking  wounds : putting  the  emphasis  on  bathe 
will  bring  out  the  meaning  of  the  line. 

40.  memorize  another  Golgotha : that  is,  make  another  as 
celebrated  as  the  first.  Read  Matthew  27  : 33. 

41.  I cannot  tell : the  broken  line  speaks  eloquently  of  the 
almost  exhausted  breath  of  the  speaker.  Coleridge’s  comment 
upon  the  fainting  of  the  sergeant  at  the  climax  of  his  recital  is : 

231 


Notes. 


Act  I,  Scene  2. 


“ the  poet’s  object  was  to  raise  the  mind  at  once  to  the  high 
tragic  tone,  that  the  audience  might  be  ready  for  the  precipi- 
tate consummation  of  guilt  in  the  early  part  of  the  play.” 

Enter  Ross : a mere  boy  sergeant  might,  in  his  enthusiasm, 
paint  too  highly  the  bravery  of  Macbeth,  but  now  a noble  lord 
comes,  with  more  dignity  but  no  less  enthusiasm,  bearing  the 
same  story.  Because  Ross  is  a somewhat  shadowy  character, 
appearing,  disappearing,  some  of  the  old  editors  delighted  in 
trying  to  prove  him  an  errant  intruder  — possibly  the  murderer 
of  Banquo,  that  mysterious  third  murderer,  or  the  agent  of  dis- 
aster to  Macduff’s  home,  or,  finally,  traitor  to  Macbeth.  But 
may  not  Shakespeare  use  characters  frankly  as  secondary  only, 
— to  bear  great  news,  as  here,  without  accounting  for  their  de- 
signs or  their  whereabouts  when  they  are  off  the  stage?  Ac- 
tors of  such  minor  parts,  when  they  are  “ off,”  behind  the  scenes 
between  their  lines,  doze  or  play  away  their  time.  Why  call 
Ross  a villain  for  no  other  reason  than  that  we  cannot  always 
keep  an  eye  on  him?  Were  Ross  such  a man  of  ambitious  de- 
sign as  these  old  critics  would  have  him,  he  would  certainly  have 
been  the  hero  of  another  play  — or  of  this  one  ! Shakespeare 
indulged  most  sparingly  in  mysteries,  — and  never  in  mystery 
for  the  sake  of  arousing  speculation. 

54.  Bellona’s  bridegroom:  the  god  Mars;  a compliment  to 
Macbeth  who  so  far  indeed  seems  wedded  to  war. 

64.  lapped  in  proof : wrapped  in  flawless  armor. 

65.  self-comparisons  : matched  himself  against  Sweno  ? Or  is  it 
against  the  disloyal  Cawdor?  Both  were  loyal  service  for  the  king. 

57.  lavish  spirit : unbounded  passion. 

69.  composition  : from  its  Latin  derivative,  agreement. 

61.  St.  Colme’s  inch : the  island  of  St.  Columba,  now  called 
Inchcolm,  in  the  Firth  of  Forth. 

62.  Ten  thousand  dollars : this  seems  startlingly  modern. 

The  word  dollar , first  thaler , was  used  frequently  in  Shakes- 
peare’s day,  but  of  course  it  was  an  anachronism  to  put  it  into 
the  mouth  of  Ross. 

64.  bosom  interest : closest  interest,  or  perhaps  merely  in- 
timate affection.  Again  Duncan  is,  to  his  disadvantage,  in  con- 

232 


Act  I,  Scene  2. 


Notes. 


trast  with  Macbeth.  Evidently  his  subjects  easily  fall  away 
from  his  light  control  into  being  traitors ; and  he  allows  others 
to  inform  him  of  these,  and  punish  them,  while  he  himself  wears 
his  title  as  an  easy  gentlemanly  task  in  comparison  with  “ doubly 
redoubling  strokes  upon  the  foe.” 

64.  present : instant. 

65.  And  with  his  former  title  greet  Macbeth : Macbeth  had 
been  Thane  of  Glamis.  Henceforth  he  will  bear  also  the  title  of 
Cawdor  with  which  title  the  witches  will  greet  him. 

DISCUSSION 

Feel  the  picturesque  quality  of  this  scene,  by  seeing  the  set- 
ting of  the  royal  camp  and  hearing  the  alarums  of  the  trumpet ; 
then  visualizing  three  contrasting  characters  — the  quiet  Dun- 
can and  Malcolm,  the  eager  sergeant  fainting  from  his  wounds, 
the  disturbed  Ross,  “ haste  looking  through  his  eyes.”  Does 
not  the  young  sergeant  remind  you  of  the  valiant  wounded  boy 
in  Browning’s  poem,  “ bound  on  bound  full  galloping,”  hold- 
ing “ himself  erect  by  just  his  horse’s  mane  ” until  he  had  given 
his  message  to  his  chief?  What  is  this  poem?  How  does  the 
atmosphere  of  this  scene  compare  with  that  of  the  first?  How 
does  the  scene  further  one’s  interest  in  the  plot?  in  the  hero? 
In  the  construction  of  the  play  how  much  is  the  scene  worth? 
If  exposition  is  the  whole  purpose  of  a first  act,  is  the  scene  an 
achievement?  What  does  Shakespeare  add  to  the  mere  expo- 
sition, however?  Are  there  any  dramatic  speeches?  Any 
that  are  quotable?  Comment  on  the  last  two  lines  of  the  scene. 
Are  we  waiting  too  long  for  our  first  sight  of  the  hero  ? On  this 
point,  compare  this  with  other  plays  you  have  read.  Compare 
the  witches’  acquaintance  with  Macbeth  in  the  first  scene  with 
the  soldiers’  acquaintance  with  him  in  the  second.  Is  it  going 
too  far  to  say  that  the  former,  although  they  say  little,  have  a 
supernatural  insight  into  the  inner  man,  and  the  latter  behold 
only  the  outer  man?  If  so,  how  can  Shakespeare  make  these 
two  points  of  view  come  together,  and  continue  as  dramatic 
contrasts  throughout  the  play? 

233 


Notes. 


Act  I,  Scene  3, 


ACT  I 
Scene  3 

2.  Killing  swine : in  those  days  witches  were  suspected  of  a 
special  malice  against  swine.  May  there  be  some  connection 
here  with  the  story  of  Christ’s  casting  the  devils  out  of  the  tor- 
tured Gergesenes  into  the  herd  of  swine? 

5.  munched : all  these  words  of  the  witches  must  be  accom- 
panied by  one’s  imagination  of  their  bodily  movements  as  they 
talked.  The  venom  this  witch  evidently  feels  against  the  sail- 
or’s wife  can  be  made  terrific  by  seeing  her  mumble  her  toothless 
gums. 

6.  Aroint  thee  : get  thee  away  ! Possibly  a formula  for  ban- 
ishing spirits. 

6.  rump-fed : this  is  supposed  to  be  an  insult  to  the  woman, 
implying  that  she  fed  upon  the  offal  — fat,  kidneys,  and  the  like  — 
of  the  kitchens  of  the  rich. 

7.  to  Aleppo  . . . master  o’  the  Tiger : in  Hakluyt’s  “ Voyages  ” 
there  is  an  account,  about  the  year  1590,  of  the  voyage  of  a ship 
Tiger  to  Tripolis  and  thence  by  caravan  to  Aleppo.  In  ‘‘Twelfth 
Night  ” Shakespeare  speaks  of  another  ship  by  this  name  : V,  i,  65. 

8.  in  a sieve : witches  could  sail  the  sea  in  any  kind  of  peril- 
ous bark  — egg  shells,  mussel  shells,  sieves. 

9.  without  a tail : when  a witch  assumed  the  shape  of  an  ani- 
mal, it  was  believed  in  those  days  that  she  was  betrayed  by  not 
being  able  to  acquire  the  tail. 

10.  I ’ll  do  : is  the  threatening  to  gnaw  through  the  planks  of 
the  ship,  or  to  destroy  the  rudder,  after  having  bitten  off  the 
pilot’s  thumb  and  having  made  a tiny  leak  somewhere  that 
would  keep  the  ship  knocking  about  the  seas,  rudderless,  for 
“ weary  se’nnights  nine  times  nine.” 

11.  give  thee  a wind : these  witches  who  held  control  of  the 
winds  and  the  weather  are  more  than  ready  to  give  freely  to  one 
another  any  aid  for  the  works  of  darkness. 

17.  shipman’s  card : the  chart,  sometimes  called  the  “ sea- 
card.” We  use  the  word  in  describing  speaking  exactly  as  speak- 
ing “ by  the  card.” 


234 


Act  I,  Scene  3.  Notes,. 


20.  pent-house  lid  : the  eyelid  slopes  like  the  roof  of  a pent- 
house or  lean-to*  Cf.  “The  Merchant  of  Venice  ” : II,  vi,  i. 

21.  forbid : shunned  because  under  the  control  of  demons. 

22.  se’nnights  nine  times  nine : eighty-one  weeks  was,  in 
those  days  of  slow-sailing  vessels,  not  so  long  a voyage. 

23.  dwindle,  peak  and  pine : Holinshed  gives  an  account  of 
this  awful  curse  brought  by  witches  upon  King  Duffe.  They 
were  found  melting  before  the  fire  a waxen  image  of  the  king, 
and  as  the  image  wasted  away  so  did  the  king’s  flesh ; they  in- 
tended that  the  king  should  die  as  soon  as  the  wax  was  con- 
sumed. When  these  witches  were  put  to  death,  says  the  chron- 
icle, the  king  began  to  mend. 

24.  cannot  be  lost : this  reminds  us  of  the  awful  protracted 
suffering  of  the  Ancient  Mariner,  exclaiming : “ And  yet  I could 
not  die ! ” 

30.  A drum,  a drum : spoken  with  restrained  excitement, 
measured,  ominous,  the  rhyme  having  its  full  dramatic  effect. 
Several  critics  have  pointed  out  that  this  is  the  real  beginning 
of  the  play,  and  that  all  that  preceded  might  have  been  omitted. 
It  is  true  that  Ross  and  Angus  soon  tell  Macbeth  all  that  hap- 
pened in  the  second  scene,  and  that  all  the  speeches  of  the  witches 
up  to  this  point  could  be  omitted ; but  who  would  willingly  give 
up  the  awful  solemnity  of  the  first  scene,  or  the  touching  pic- 
ture of  the  boy  sergeant,  or  the  portrait  of  a vapid  king  who  al- 
most deserved  to  he  killed  ? The  drum  here  speaks  of  an  escort 
for  Macbeth  and  Banquo,  but  they  alone  appear  to  the  eye. 

32.  weird : the  first  folio  printed  weyward  in  place  of  weird. 

33.  Posters  : swift  travelers. 

35.  Thrice  to  thine,  etc. : the  witch  numbers  of  three,  and  mul- 
tiples of  three.  Imagine  the  sisters  here  taking  hands,  circling  in 
one  direction  three  times,  in  the  opposite  three  times,  then  back 
again  three  times,  — giving  the  effect  of  having  turned  the  world 
topsy-turvy,  all  order  and  consecutiveness  annihilated.  The 
dance  seems  to  infest  the  circle  with  evil  just  as  Macbeth  steps 
into  it,  and  at  the  same  time  to  bind  the  three  sisters  together 
in  a common  enterprise  that  required  their  united  efforts.  All 
this  is  directed  against  the  hero  of  the  tragedy  I 

235 


Notes. 


Act  I,  Scene  3. 


38.  foul  and  fair:  this  line  is  one  of  those  speeches  that  con- 
tain a multiplied  suggestiveness  in  view  of  what  follows  in  the 
scene.  Of  course  Macbeth  merely  means  foul  in  regard  to  the 
weather,  fair  in  regard  to  his  victory.  Dowden  points  out  the 
significance  of  the  fact  that  these  words  of  Macbeth’s  are  really 
a repetition  of  the  witches’  in  Scene  i ; as  if  a connection  were 
already  established  between  his  soul  and  theirs  even  before  he 
ever  sees  them.  I do  not  take  it  that  he  is  already  bewitched 
by  their  spells,  but  rather  that  his  nature  is  one  that  may  be 
easily  influenced,  for  the  opportunity  of  making  his  own  moral 
choice  must  still  be  left  to  the  hero  — otherwise  he  cannot  be 
the  hero  of  a tragedy. 

39.  What  are  these : this  is  genuine  surprise ; so  these  weird 
sisters  are  not,  even  in  appearance,  the  ordinary  hags  of  witch- 
craft. Banquo  is  absorbed  in  the  way  they  look,  and  who  they 
are ; but  Macbeth’s  first  imperative  “ Speak ! ” shows  his  un- 
controlled and  overbearing  habit  of  command.  Banquo’s  ques- 
tions give  us  our  information  of  how  they  look  — on  the  earth 
but  not  of  it ; bearded  but  not  men ; chappy  fingers,  skinny 
lips,  wild  attire,  — and  all  wrapt  in  silence  until  their  appear- 
ance has  sunk  into  the  eyes  of  the  two  soldiers. 

“ But  we  know,  and  Shakespeare  has  helped  to  teach  us,  that 
the  very  soul  of  horror  lies  in  the  vague,  the  impalpable;  that 
nothing  in  the  world  or  out  of  it  can  so  daunt  and  cow  us  as  the 
dread  of  we  know  not  what . Of  darkness,  again  — of  such  dark- 
ness as  this  tragedy  is  cast  in  — that  its  menace  lies  in  suggestion 
of  the  hooded  eye  watching  us,  the  hand  feeling  to  clutch  us  by 
the  hair.  No,  Shakespeare  knew  what  he  was  about,  when  he 
left  his  witches  vague.”  — Quiller -Couch. 

48.  Speak,  if  you  can : since  the  witches  respond  to  this  order 
at  once  we  may  almost  imagine  their  chuckle  of  satisfaction  at 
the  readiness  with  which  Macbeth  enters  their  world. 

49.  All  hail,  Macbeth!  These  three  salutations  must  be  given 
slowly  and  with  real  dignity,  for  they  are  the  seed  which  must 
be  planted  with  greatest  care.  The  first  tells  Macbeth  what  he 
already  knows  ; the  second,  what  is  true  although  he  does  not  yet 
know  it ; the  third,  what  is  not  yet  true  but  may  become  so  if , , . 

236 


Act  I,  Scene  3. 


Notes. 


It  is  interesting  to  note  that  in  Holinshed  both  Banquo  and 
Macbeth  are  afraid  to  speak;  but  Shakespeare  gives  his  hero 
that  initiative  that  a hero  must  have. 

51.  why  do  you  start:  what  a dramatic  way  to  let  us  see 
the  effect  of  the  salutation  upon  Macbeth ! 

55.  present  grace,  etc. : how  skillfully  our  minds  are  kept 
upon  the  threefold  character  of  the  prophecy ! 

57.  rapt : lost  in  thought. 

60.  Speak  then  to  me : Banquo  is  still  cool,  and  describes  a 
perfectly  balanced  mind  that  neither  begs  nor  fears.  His  is 
honest  human  wonder  and  curiosity  — for  there  is  in  his  heart 
no  lurking  darkness  to  give  it  any  other  tint. 

65.  Lesser  than  Macbeth,  etc. : the  evasive  equivocation  in 
these  answers  might  engender  evil  ambition  in  a heart  not  per- 
fectly clear;  so  here  Shakespeare  gets  his  best  contrast  between 
Macbeth  and  Banquo. 

71.  Sinel’s  death : Sinel  was  the  father  of  Macbeth,  lately 
dead. 

73.  A prosperous  gentleman : there  seems  to  be  no  reason 
here  to  suppose  Macbeth  trying  to  fool  the  witches  as  to  his 
knowledge  of  Cawdor’s  treachery,  and  so  to  test  their  knowledge. 
Why  may  he  not  be  asking  a perfectly  honest  question?  He 
may  have  left  the  battle  as  soon  as  he  was  victor  to  report  to 
the  king,  and  so  have  been  ignorant  of  Cawdor’s  treachery 
and  of  the  king’s  sentence  upon  that  individual.  Even  Angus 
was  ignorant  of  just  what  Cawdor  had  done  previous  to  his  con- 
fession. Cf.  his  speech  later,  II,  109-116. 

78.  charge  you : here  the  tone  of  authority  apparently  de- 
cides the  witches  to  stand  no  further  human  questioning. 

Witches  vanish : the  Variorum  quotes  here  an  interesting 

comment,  author  unknown,  on  Irving’s  acting  of  this  scene : 
“ We  make  bold  to  say  that  Mr.  Irving  as  Macbeth  in  the  heath 
scene  accomplished  what  high  authority  has  pronounced  impos- 
sible. His  whole  attitude  as  the  bewildering  prophecy  strikes 
upon  his  ear,  and  as  the  strange  prophets  vanish  into  thin  air, 
is  that  of  a man  who  has  actually  held  converse  with  the  spirits 
of  another  world.  He  is  not  only  dazed,  but  scared;  and  when 

237 


Notes. 


Act  I,  Scene  3. 


Ross  and  Angus  bring  him  their  message  from  the  king,  it  is  some 
time  before  he  can  collect  himself  sufficiently  to  listen  to  their 
congratulations.” 

84.  insane  root : the  hemlock,  says  Greene  in  one  of  his  plays, 
“ makes  men’s  eyes  conceit  unseen  objects.” 

92.  do  contend : he  knows  not  how  to  express  his  wonder 
and  to  give  the  praise  due  Macbeth. 

104.  earnest : promise  of. 

104.  greater  honor : what  could  be  greater  except  the 

crown?  Is  the  king  thinking  of  abdicating  in  favor  of  his  cousin? 

109.  Who  was  the  thane : that  Ross  is  helping  Macbeth  to 
plan  successfully  now  that  the  Thane  of  Cawdor  is  dead;  that 
Angus  listens  innocently  enough  because  he  has  never  known 
anything  about  Cawdor  except  what  Ross  has  told  him;  that 
Macbeth  silences  Banquo  by,  a few  lines  later,  alluring  him  with 
the  promise  of  the  witches,  so  that  he  will  stand  with  them. 
This  interpretation  would  give  more  point  to  this  long  conversation, 
but  on  the  other  hand  why  try  to  read  more  into  the  speeches 
than  the  intelligence  catches  naturally  at  first? 

120.  trusted  home  : trusted  to  the  uttermost. 

123.  And  oftentimes : there  is  here  not  only  a whole  philoso- 
phy of  the  conflict  between  good  and  evil,  but  also  the  whole 
moral  of  this  particular  tragedy.  Banquo  is  a perfect  foil  to 
Macbeth  in  the  way  in  which  his  nature  repels  the  “ instruments 
of  darkness  ” even  from  the  first. 

127.  Two  truths  are  told,  etc. : from  now  on  to  the  end  of  the 
scene  Macbeth’s  action  is  wonderfully  dramatic.  Absorbed  in 
the  significance  of  these  events,  crowded  into  so  short  a space  of 
time,  he  goes  in  imagination  so  far  ahead  as  the  actual  scene  of 
killing  his  king.  True  it  is  a suggestion  that  unfixes  his  hair, 
that  makes  his  heart  pound  against  his  ribs,  that  shakes  his 
manhood  to  its  depths  — and  “ nothing  is  but  what  is  not.” 
There  seems  here  a good  reason  for  not  making  Ross  an  insti- 
gator of  the  plot,  — for  then  this  passage  would  lose  a dramatic 
point,  the  wonder  and  dangerous  interest  with  which  he  and  An- 
gus look  upon  Macbeth’s  abstraction,  and  the  anxiety  of  Banquo 
to  call  Macbeth  to  his  senses  while  he  is  being  so  closely 


Act  I,  Scene  3. 


Notes. 


observed.  He  who  acts  the  part  of  Macbeth  here  must  do  a 
difficult  thing,  — give  the  impression  of  a man  present  m body, 
far  away  in  mind,  trying  now  and  again  to  pull  both  together 
to  meet  the  situation  which  demands  courtesy  and  recognition 
of  the  favor  done  him  by  the  messengers  of  the  king. 

128.  swelling  act:  cf.  “Henry  V,”  Prologue,  line  4. 

“ And  monarchs  to  behold  the  swelling  scene  ! ” 

137.  Present  fears  Are  less  : this  is  our  first  proof  of  that  mor- 
bidly active  imagination  of  Macbeth’s  which  inspires  so  often 
later  those  vividly  poetic  speeches  which  amaze  even  Lady  Mac- 
beth. We  must  notice  here,  too,  that  there  is  no  genuine  moral 
hesitancy  in  plotting  the  death  of  Duncan,  but  only  a fear  of 
what  his  excited  brain  shows  him.  This  vision  is  also  a kind 
of  forerunner  of  those  hallucinations  which  later  so  easily  come 
before  his  eyes. 

140.  my  single  state  of  man:  my  mere  manhood.  It  is  said 
that  Garrick,  in  acting  the  part,  spoke  this  phrase  with  long 
pauses  between  the  words,  in  a low  undertone,  showing  how  Mac-, 
beth’s  mind  shuddered  at  what  he  must  do. 

140.  function  Is  smothered : power  of  action  is  crushed  un- 
der the  appalling  image  in  his  mind,  is  crippled,  disabled.  Hud- 
son says,  at  this  point,  that  here  “ all  the  elements  of  evil,  hith- 
erto latent  within  him,  gather  and  fashion  themselves  into  a 
wicked  purpose.” 

147.  Time  and  the  hour : as  in  Latin,  tempus  et  hora , mean- 
ing time  and  the  critical  hour  will  bring  through  the  fore- 
ordained outcome  of  even  the  most  perplexing  affairs. 

151.  Are  registered  : in  my  memory. 

154.  The  interim : he  spoke  of  the  interval  of  time  here  al- 
most as  a person  — a cool  impartial  judge. 

154.  let  us  speak  Our  free  hearts  : is  Macbeth  here,  oppressed 
by  the  consciousness  of  his  “ single  state  of  man,”  almost  wist- 
ful of  Banquo’s  cooperation? 

155.  Very  gladly:  this  does  not  imply  that  Banquo  was  willing 
to  enter  into  a conspiracy  against  Duncan.  On  the  contrary  that  he 
would  refuse  to  harbor  any  dishonorable  designs  against  the  king  can 
be  seen  from  lines  20-29  of  Act  II,  Scene  1. 

239 


Notes. 


Act  I,  Scene  4. 


DISCUSSION 

How  does  the  scene  compare  in  dramatic  effect  with  the  first 
and  second  scenes?  What  is  its  unified  dramatic  purpose? 
Is  there  anything  of  interest  in  the  variety  of  characters  in  the 
scene?  Do  Ross  and  Angus  become  more  definite  here?  What 
variation  of  meter  here,  and  for  what  purpose?  Is  there  any- 
thing that  holds  the  presence  of  the  witches  all  through  the 
scene  to  the  very  end?  What  are  the  memorable  lines?  What 
speeches  add  most  to  your  understanding  of  Macbeth’s  character? 
What  points  are  pulling  him  toward  the  evil  deed ; what  consid- 
erations are  holding  him  back?  In  what  speech  does  he  seem 
almost  decided  to  let  events  take  their  course?  Should  he  hold 
to  this  attitude  and  still  ardently  desire  his  king  dead,  the  crown 
upon  his  own  brow,  would  his  guilt  be  anything  the  less?  Does 
he  speak  anywhere  here  as  a strong  man  facing  overwhelming 
and  sudden  temptation?  From  how  many  sources  does  his 
temptation  come?  How  far  back  does  his  temptation  lie? 
What  is  his  weakness  as  he  reveals  it  in  his  soliloquies?  What 
does  the  reader  really  want  to  see  in  the  next  scene  ? 


ACT  I 
Scene  4 

Remember,  this  scene  is  a day  later  than  Scenes  i,  2,  and  3. 

6.  set  forth : sincerely  set  forth,  is  meant. 

7.  nothing  in  his  life : there  is  real  thrill  in  these  lines  de- 
scribing a brave  man’s  death.  It  is  possible  that  Shakespeare 
may  have  had  in  mind  the  death  of  Essex,  his  gallant  prayer 
for  pardon  from  his  queen,  his  quiet  dignity  as  he  sacrificed  his 
life  to  the  severity  of  her  judgment.  If  this  were  so,  how  affect- 
ing to  the  Elizabethan  audience  must  these  lines  have  been  ! 

9.  studied  in  his  death : trained  — a phrase  Shakespeare 

is  doubtless  borrowing  from  his  own  profession  of  acting. 

11.  careless  : unworthy  of  care. 

24O 


Act  I,  Scene  4.  Notes. 

11.  There’s  no  art  To  find:  is  there  not,  for  a keen  man? 
Libby  says : “ this  speech  is  Duncan’s  death  warrant  ” — and  it 
certainly  does  put  him  in  the  class  of  incompetents,  almost 
whining  over  his  betrayed  confidence. 

14.  O worthiest  cousin:  is  not  this  exaggerated  praise  of 
Macbeth  also  a sign  of  senility?  Macbeth  as  he  enters  must 
show  in  his  face  at  least  elation  and  confidence  in  his  fate ; but 
is  the  king,  like  one  who  has  learned  a lesson,  looking  now  for 
“ the  mind’s  construction  ”?  If  one  has  no  admiration  for  Dun- 
can in  the  second  scene,  one  has  here  almost  a contempt  for  him. 

25.  children  and  servants : that  is,  owe  you  allegiance  and 
service. 

28.  plant  thee  : by  conferring  Cawdor’s  title  upon  him. 

35.  drops  of  sorrow  : again,  the  tears  of  old  age  and  weakness. 

39.  Prince  of  Cumberland : that  is,  heir  to  the  throne. 

41.  shall  shine  On  all : the  childishness  of  the  king  seeks  in 
this  way  to  bind  all  to  him  — as  if  his  experience  with  Cawdor 
were  a shock  he  could  not  endure  again. 

44.  The  rest  is  labor : that  is,  “ resting  when  there  is  the 
possibility  of  doing  something  for  you  is  a real  labor  to  me.” 

45.  I ’ll  be  myself  the  harbinger : we  understand  his  eager- 
ness to  see  her. 

50.  Stars,  hide  your  fires : Macbeth’s  imagination  foresees 

night  is  the  time  for  carrying  through  the  murder. 

52.  wink  at : not  see  what  the  hand  does,  or  is  it  approve  it, 
prompt  it? 

54.  True,  worthy  Banquo  : evidently  they  have  been  apprais- 
ing apart  the  great  service  the  king  thinks  Macbeth  has  done 
him. 

55.  I am  fed : it  is,  as  we  say,  meat  and  drink  to  me  to  hear 
others  praise  him. 

68.  kinsman : Duncan  and  Macbeth  were  sons  of  two  daugh- 
ters of  the  old  king  Malcolm.  Lady  Macbeth  was  Macbeth’s  third 
cousin.  It  is  easy  to  see  from  this  relationship  of  Macbeth  and 
his  wife  to  the  king,  why  they  might  aspire  to  the  throne,  since  they 
felt  that  they  had  as  much  right  to  it  as  Duncan,  the  present 
incumbent. 


24I 


Notes. 


Act  I,  Scene  4. 


DISCUSSION 

Has  the  scene  sufficient  value  to  be  worth  the  space  it  occu- 
pies? Why  would  you  not  wish  to  lose  the  account  of  Caw- 
dor’s death  ? What  lines  in  that  account  are  memorable  ? What 
is  significant  about  Macbeth’s  entrance  just  as  Duncan  speaks 
the  words  “ an  absolute  trust  ” ? Is  Macbeth’s  first  speech  to  the 
king  merely  conventional,  or  is  it  overdone?  Is  it  natural  that 
court  disloyalty  should  try  to  hide  itself  in  a cloak  of  hyperbole  ? 
Is  pity  aroused  by  Duncan’s  speeches,  or  only  a contempt  for 
him?  What  speech  of  Duncan’s  is  a problem  that  Macbeth 
must  solve?  Has  Shakespeare  made  this  unusual  moment  for 
announcing  the  heir  to  the  throne  seem  natural?  Account  for 
Macbeth’s  eagerness  immediately  after  to  reach  his  wife  before 
Duncan  arrives.  Watch  in  the  next  scene  to  see  how  Macbeth’s 
word,  when  he  said  he  would  make  her  hearing  joyful  with  the 
king’s  approach,  is  borne  out.  Does  this  haste  homeward  mean 
fear?  a shrinking  that  he  wants  encouraged?  a desire  to  share 
responsibility?  a wonder  as  to  whether  or  not  he  will  make 
circumstance  the  right  occasion?  a wish  that  she  shall  initiate 
the  murder?  or  a tangled  combination  of  all  these  feelings? 
How  important  in  the  play  is  the  king’s  appointment  of  his 
son  as  his  successor?  Is  it  possible,  as  some  editors  think, 
that  Duncan  had  already  made  some  agreement  with  his  cousin 
Macbeth  that  he  should  inherit  upon  Duncan’s  death?  If  so, 
do  you  not  think  that  this  would  become  later  in  Scene  7 one  of 
Macbeth’s  arguments  to  himself  for  not  killing  the  king?  Does 
Macbeth  see  now  two  lives  instead  of  one  between  him  and  the 
throne?  In  what  passage  is  Macbeth’s  strained  imagination 
again  keyed  to  poetry?  What  about  the  morality  of  the  lines, — 

“ Yet  let  that  be 

Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see.” 

Do  you  agree  with  Coleridge’s  comment : “ I always  think 
there  is  something  especially  Shakesperian  in  Duncan’s  speeches 
throughout  this  scene,  such  pourings  forth,  such  abandonments, 
compared  with  the  language  of  vulgar  dramatists,  whose  char- 

242 


Act  I,  Scene  5. 


Notes 


acters  seem  to  have  made  their  speeches  as  the  actors  learn  them.” 
Where  is  the  most  satisfactory  dramatic  conflict  in  this  scene 
between  Macbeth  and  Duncan?  How  do  you  explain  the  king’s 
embracing  Macbeth?  Is  there  anything  about  Malcolm  which 
fits  him  to  be  king  — or  is  Macbeth  still  the  strong  man?  Has 
this  announcement  of  the  heir  upset  Macbeth’s  philosophy  as 
to  “ time  and  the  hour  ”?  Does  the  scene  leave  one  impatient 
to  know  what  follows? 

ACT  I 
Scene  5 

The  scene  changes  here  to  Inverness,  Macbeth’s  castle,  and 
we  have  there  the  first  glimpse  of  the  character  toward  whom 
events  and  Macbeth’s  thoughts  have  been  leading  us,  — Lady 
Macbeth.  She  has  evidently  read  the  beginning  of  the  letter, 
and  reads  aloud  to  us  only  that  point  where  the  actual  concerns 
of  the  drama  begin.  An  anonymous  article  in  Blackwood, 
June,  1843,  speaks  of  Mrs.  Siddons’  entrance  here  as  being  hur- 
ried, as  if  she  had,  in  company,  merely  glanced  at  the  contents 
of  the  letter,  and  then  escaped  to  privacy,  to  go  over  it  again 
alone.  She  read  along  in  a “ strong,  calm  voice  ” until  she  came 
to  the  word  “ vanished.”  Still  it  was  mere  wonder  that  made  her 
pause  — for  to  her  the  real  “ winding  up  of  the  spell  ” was  “ Hail, 
king  that  shalt  be,”  pronounced  with  the  grandeur  of  one  al- 
ready by  anticipation  a queen.  Another  report  of  Mrs.  Siddons’ 
acting,  by  Knowles,  is : “ The  Lady  Macbeth  of  Mrs.  Siddons 
was  the  Genius  of  guilty  ambition  personified ; — expressed  in 
form,  in  feature,  motion,  speech.  An  awe  invested  her.  You 
felt  as  if  there  was  a consciousness  in  the  very  atmosphere  that 
surrounded  her,  which  communicated  its  thrill  to  you.  There 
was  something  absolutely  subduing  in  her  presence  — an  over- 
powering something  that  commanded  silence,  or  if  you  spoke, 
prevented  you  from  speaking  above  your  breath.  It  was  a 
thing  once  witnessed  never  to  be  forgotten,  more  to  be  remem- 
bered than  the  most  gorgeous  pageant  that  ever  signalized  the 


Notes. 


Act  I,  Scene  5. 


triumph  of  human  pride,  or  fulfilled  the  misgivings  of  human 
admiration.”  Neither  of  these  views  exactly  tallies  with  our 
later  interpretation  of  her  character  — but  it  is  interesting  how 
she  has  always  been  a deep  study  to  any  one  who  plays  on  the 
stage  her  part,  and  how  varying  and  contradictory  have  been 
analyses  of  her  rich  complex  nature.  Ellen  Terry,  in  a later 
article  in  The  London  Times , 1888,  is  described  as  making  her 
reading  of  the  letter  “ intent  and  full  of  terrible  significance,  the 
wife’s  mind  absorbing  itself  in  that  of  her  beloved  husband,  and 
interpreting  the  suggestion  of  his  written  words.  Miss  Terry 
at  once  shows  us  that  Lady  Macbeth  is  a woman  whose  very 
love  for  her  husband  subordinates  to  it  every  other  consideration, 
so  that  the  achieving  of  this  ambition  must  be  her  first  thought. 
She  knows  his  nature,  and  as  she  takes  up  his  miniature  tenderly 
and  talks  to  it  in  loving  tones  she  reviews  his  kindness  of  heart, 
and  indicates  that  she  must  assume  masculine  strength  to  sup- 
port him  in  the  fatal  purpose  that  he  has  revealed  to  her,  and 
which  she  knows  involves  the  ambition  of  his  life.  When  Mac- 
beth comes  she  rushes  lovingly  to  his  arms,  and  with  the  woman’s 
instinct  at  once  commences  to  read  his  thoughts,  and  attempts 
to  turn  them  to  action.”  • 

2.  perfectest  report : the  coming  true  of  one  prophecy. 

10.  partner  of  greatness : a perfect  piece  of  evidence  of  their 
partnership  is  their  ambition. 

14.  Glamis  thou  art : a record  of  the  Lady  Macbeth  of  Ade- 
laide Ristori  is  that,  as  she  begins  these  lines,  “ she  crooned  forth 
the  opening  words  until  the  voice  changed  almost  to  the  hissing 
of  a serpent : anon  it  rose  to  the  swelling  diapason  of  an  organ, 
her  eyes  became  luminous  with  infernal  fire,  the  stately  figure 
expanded,  her  white  hands  clutched  her  bosom,  as  if  she  would 
there  and  then  have  unsexed  herself,  and  turned  her  4 woman’s 
milk  to  gall,’  and  it  really  required  but  little  stretch  of  imagi- 
nation to  conceive  that  the  darkness  and  smoke  of  hell  would 
burst  forth  and  environ  her  then  and  there.” 

16.  human  kindness  : see  the  discussion  of  this  word  on  p.  121. 

T9,  illness:  evil  nature  is  too  strong  for  the  meaning  of  ill- 
ness ; it  is  rather  the  latent  possibility  of  doing  evil, 


Act  I,  Scene  5. 


Notes. 


19.  what  thou  wouldst  highly : meaning  the  wish  for  some- 
thing high  that  can  be  attained  only  by  crime,  and  yet  with 
the  wish,  the  longing,  to  gratify  it  honestly. 

22.  That  which  cries:  thou  wouldst  have  the  crown;  and 

the  crown  cries  : “ If  thou  have  me,  thus  thou  must  do  — murder 
Duncan.  ” 

23.  And  that  which  : perhaps  this  is  clearer  in  another  reading 
— “ An  act  which. ” 

26.  valor  of  my  tongue : valor  is  a word  of  wonderful  dig- 
nity — here,  one  of  the  expressions  which  forbid  one  interpret- 
ing Lady  Macbeth’s  tongue  as  “ shrewish.” 
jc  27.  golden  round  : the  crown. 

28.  metaphysical : always  in  Shakespeare’s  time  supernatural . 

34.  had  the  speed : kept  ahead  at  a greater  speed  than  Mac- 
beth’s. 

37.  raven  himself  is  hoarse : even  the  hard  voice  of  this 
bird,  accustomed  to  foretell  disaster,  could  not  croak  the  entrance 
of  Duncan  in  anything  but  doubly  harsh  tones.  Or  by  “ raven  ” 
may  she  mean  the  messenger?  The  servant  says  he  is  “ almost 
dead  for  breath,”  and  so  she  might  follow  with  “ naturally  he 
would  have  no  breath  for  such  astonishing  news  — even  the 
raven  himself  would  croak  it  hoarsely.”  Mrs.  Siddons  is  said  to 
have  stood  immovable  after  the  servant  withdrew,  for  a long 
while  silent,  until  her  purpose  settled  itself  to  “ the  raven  itself 
is  hoarse.” 

40.  mortal  thoughts  : thoughts  of  death. 

40.  unsex  me  here : she  abjures  her  womanhood,  suppresses 
all  her  natural  instincts  for  the  purposes  ahead.  The  point  to 
notice  is  that  she  possessed  this  womanly  nature,  — as  she  her- 
self knows  she  was  no  “fiend,” — but  could  only  forswear  her 
nature  and  consecrate  herself,  a changed  self,  to  the  passion  that 
would  carry  her  through  all  difficulties  that  she  knew  lay  ahead. 
It  is  a prayer  for  consecration  to  purpose.  Did  Macbeth  ever 
pray  to  have  his  nature  changed?  or  need  to,  so  far  as  enter- 
taining the  idea  of  crime  is  concerned? 

43.  remorse : relenting  before  the  deed  rather  than  repent- 
ance afterward. 


245 


Notes. 


Act  I,  Scene  5. 


45.  keep  peace  between  The  effect  and  it:  Hudson  thinks 
that  the  word  was  space  not  peace;  that  is,  she  prays  that  no 
compunctions  may  keep  space  between  her  purpose  and  what 
it  is  to  effect. 

48.  sightless : invisible. 

49.  thick  night : the  night  that  she  invokes  is  not  only  dark, 
it  is  deepest  dark  with  the  smoke  of  hell. 

61.  keen  knife  : she,  'too,  sees  the  details  of  the  murder,  add- 
ing to  the  setting  of  night,  which  Macbeth,  too,  saw,  the  details 
of  the  keen  knife  and  its  wound. 

52.  blanket  of  the  dark : Hudson’s  note  is : “ The  metaphor 
of  darkness  being  a blanket  wrapped  round  the  world  so  as  to 
keep  the  Divine  Eye  from  seeing  the  deed,  is  just  such  a one  as 
it  was  fitting  for  the  boldest  of  poets  to  put  into  the  mouth  of 
the  boldest  of  women.” 

66.  ignorant  present : ignorant  of  what  is  to  follow. 

57.  instant : the  present,  fateful,  critical  moment. 

58.  Duncan  comes  here  to-night : from  here  to  the  end  of  the 
scene  Macbeth  is  tentative  — not  precisely  wavering  — but  try- 
ing out  her  replies  as  if  to  see  how  his  letter  and  the  king’s  com- 
ing had  worked  in  her  mind.  There  is  really  no  need  for  them 
to  question  each  other : a look,  a gesture,  after  so  many  confer- 
ences before  the  play  opens,  tells  the  whole  story.  Lady  Mac- 
beth sees  his  mind  made  up  in  his  face  — “a  book  where  men 
may  read  strange  matters  ” — and  for  fear  he  may  betray  himself 
she  urges  him  to  “ look  like  the  time,”  that  is,  as  one  should 
who  is  entertaining  his  king  with  ceremony.  The  first  deter- 
mination is  clear  enough  in  the  slow  words,  “ Oh,  never  shall 
sun  that  morrow  see  ! ” 

61.  Your  face : as  if  for  the  first  time  she  realizes  how  tell- 
tale it  is. 

67.  into  my  dispatch:  is  this  just  what  Macbeth  has  been 
wishing  for?  Plainly  she  takes  generously  the  management  of 
the  plan  upon  herself  — her  unsexed  self ! Then  as  if  his  “ We 
will  speak  further  ” might  mean  the  ordinary  wavering  of  hu- 
mankind-ness  she  hurriedly  begs  him  to  leave  all  the  rest  to  her. 

71.  To  alter  favor : to  allow  your  countenance  to  change. 

246 


Act  I,  Scene  5. 


Notes. 


DISCUSSION 

When  did  Macbeth  write  the  letter  that  opens  the  scene? 
May  a stage  letter  have  any  dramatic  value?  Or  is  it  only  a 
useful  way  of  communicating  information  to  an  audience? 
Just  how  much  revelation  is  in  the  soliloquy  that  follows  the 
letter,  — of  Macbeth?  of  Lady  Macbeth  herself?  What  is 
Macbeth  doing  at  the  very  moment  his  wife  is  analyzing  his 
character?  Is  he  not  perhaps  just  then  bearing  out  her  fears 
in  his  determination  to  let  “ chance  ” crown  him  because,  as 
she  says,  his  eye  is  afraid  to  see  what  he  must  do?  Why  does 
she  start  so  at  the  entrance  of  the  messenger?  at  his  news? 
How  does  she  cover  up  her  agitation  with  a simple  explanation? 
After  the  messenger  goes,  by  what  steps  does  her  excitement 
mount?  What  is  her  moment  of  greatest  abandon?  Why  is 
it  much  more  dramatic  to  see  her  acceptance  of  the  “ great 
news  ” when  she  is  alone?  Why  are  the  words  “ To  cry,  hold ! 
hold!”  the  really  dramatic  moment  for  Macbeth’s  entrance? 
What  must  pass  between  husband  and  wife  in  their  first  look  into 
each  other’s  eyes?  If  he  is  here  dominated  by  desire  to  know 
her  reaction  upon  the  news,  what  is  her  great  concern  as  she 
watches  him?  Her  excitement  is  the  greatest  possible  dramatic 
foil  to  his  reticence.  Does  she  divide  the  parts  they  must  play 
that  “ great  night  ” evenly  — or  does  she  undertake  more  than 
her  share?  Why?  What  might  be  her  stage  action  when  she 
greets  him  with  all  three  titles?  Does  she  echo  anywhere  the 
exact  words  of  the  witches  whom  she  has  not  heard?  Why  do 
their  experiences  in  the  letter  impress  her  so  profoundly?  Do 
you  feel  in  any  |phrases  the  rapture  she  allows  to  the  future? 
Take  out  Macbeth’s  three  short  speeches  in  lines  58,  60,  and  69, 
and  judge  from  them  of  the  temper  of  his  mind  right  here.  As 
a whole  how  does  the  scene  compare  in  dramatic  power  with 
all  those  that  precede?  Should  the  play  be  called,  as  has  been 
suggested,  “ Lady  Macbeth”?  What  qualities  has  she  shown 
here  that  would  entitle  her  to  greatness  in  any  age?  What 
vivifying  qualities  has  the  entrance  of  her  personality  brought 
quickly  into  the  play? 


247 


Notes 


Act  I,  Scene  6. 


ACT  I 

Scene  6 

There  is  little  that  is  dramatic  in  this  scene,  — but  much  that 
is  pleasant.  The  repose  of  the  quiet  conversation  between 
Macbeth  and  Banquo,  the  repose  of  the  seat  of  the  castle  as  they 
describe  it,  gives  us  a breathing  space  after  the  intense  passion 
of  the  preceding  scene.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  writes  in  appre- 
ciation of  it : “ This  short  dialogue  between  Duncan  and  Banquo 
has  always  appeared  to  me  a striking  instance  of  what  in  paint- 
ing is  termed  repose.  Their  conversation  very  naturally  turns 
upon  the  beauty  of  (the  castle’s)  situation,  and  the  pleasant- 
ness of  the  air;  and  Banquo,  observing  the  martlets’  nests  in 
every  recess  of  the  cornice,  remarks,  that  where  those  birds 
most  breed  and  haunt,  the  air  is  delicate.  The  subject  of  this 
quiet  and  easy  conversation  gives  that  repose  so  necessary  to 
the  mind  after  the  tumultuous  bustle  of  the  preceding  scenes, 
and  perfectly  contrasts  the  scene  of  horror  that  immediately 
succeeds.  It  seems  as  if  Shakespeare  asked  himself,  What  is 
a prince  likely  to  say  to  his  attendants  on  such  an  occasion? 
Whereas  the  modern  writers  seem,  on  the  contrary,  to  be  always 
searching  for  new  thoughts,  such  as  would  never  occur  to  men 
in  the  situation  which  is  represented.  This  also  is  frequently 
the  practice  of  Homer,  who,  from  the  midst  of  battles  and  hor- 
rors, relieves  and  refreshes  the  mind  of  the  reader  by  introduc- 
ing some  quiet  rural  image,  or  picture  of  familiar  domestic  life.” 
Of  course  there  is  in  the  very  quietness  a dramatic  interest  — 
that  of  seeing  the  king,  unconscious  of  his  fate,  walk  to  his  death 
with  praise  and  love  of  the  beauty  of  its  setting;  and  that  of 
realizing  how  violent  a deed  is  to  outrage  the  peace  of  the  castle. 

4.  temple-haunting  : the  martlet  loves  the  quiet  of  temples  — 
and  finds  it  in  this  gentle  castle  of  Macbeth’s. 

6.  mansionry : masonry,  building. 

6.  jutty : any  abutting  on  any  part  of  the  house. 

7.  coign  of  vantage  : convenient  corner  for  building. 

11.  The  love  that  follows  us,  etc. : these  lines  mean  simply 
that  the  love  which  prompts  our  friends  to  visit  us  gives  us 

248 


Act  I,  Scene  6. 


Notes. 


much  trouble,  yet  we  appreciate  it  as  love.  So  you,  Lady  Mac- 
beth, are  to  regard  this  occasion  and  thank  us  for  the  trouble 
we  cause  you. 

14.  All  our  service  : how  gracious  a hostess  she  is,  and  how 
solicitous,  — showing  her  natural  charm  in  natural  circum- 
stances. 

16.  contend  Against : to  try  to  equal. 

20.  rest  your  hermits : that  is,  shall  always  pray  for  you, 
following  up  the  king’s  suggestion  that  she  should  “ bid  God 
’ild  us  for  your  pains.” 

20.  thane  of  Cawdor : has  the  use  of  his  recently  acquired 
title  any  dramatic  effect  here? 

22.  purveyor : forerunner. 

23.  great  love:  was  this  all  that  helped  him  home  first? 

26.  in  compt : your  servants  hold  all  they  have  in  readiness 
to  use  in  your  service,  and  are  at  any  minute  ready  to  give  such 
account,  or  audit,  of  their  possessions. 

28.  Give  me  your  hand : so  Lady  Macbeth  leads  him  into 
the  castle  — to  what? 

DISCUSSION 

Coleridge’s  note  upon  this  scene  is : “ The  lyrical  movement 
with  which  this  scene  opens,  and  the  free  and  unengaged  mind 
of  Banquo,  loving  nature,  and  rewarded  in  the  love  itself,  form 
a highly  dramatic  contrast  with  the  labored  rhythm  and  hypo- 
critical over-much  of  Lady  Macbeth’s  welcome,  in  which  you 
cannot  detect  a ray  of  personal  feeling,  but  all  is  thrown  upon 
the  ‘ dignities,’  the  general  duty.”  How  would  you  describe 
the  atmosphere  of  the  entire  scene?  What  effect  is  gained  by 
having  Lady  Macbeth  alone  welcome  Duncan?  How  much  in- 
terest do  you  feel  in  seeing  her  carry  out  the  beginning  of  “ this 
night’s  great  business”?  Is  it  a dramatic  moment  when  she 
enters?  Is  it  a dramatic  picture  when  her  youth  and  grace  and 
beauty  lead  confiding  old  age  to  its  undreamed-of  doom?  What 
makes  her  still  charming  in  spite  of  the  awfulness  of  this  decep- 
tion? What  speech  of  hers  almost  echoes  a former  protestation 

249 


N otes. 


Act  I,  Scene  7. 


of  gratitude  from  Macbeth?  How  many  speeches  has  Lady 
Macbeth  in  the  whole  scene?  What  is  the  tenor  of  all?  Does 
Duncan  make  any  more  appeal  to  you  in  this  scene  than  before? 


ACT  I 
Scene  7 

This  is  one  of  the  great  scenes  of  the  play.  Macbeth  is  really 
suffering  here  from  his  conscience  — commonplace  as  that  con- 
science is.  He  cannot  stay  where  he  may  see  the  preparations 
for  the  feastings ; but  has  come  away  by  himself  to  think  and  to 
argue  with  himself.  It  is  commonplace  arguing,  too,  — but  ar- 
guing with  his  soul  is  not  a thing  he  is  accustomed  to.  He  is 
genuinely  agitated;  speaks  by  fits  and  starts;  and  what  he  says 
is  a complete  and  perfect  revelation  of  his  moral  nature. 

Sewer : server. 

divers  Servants : gives  the  impression  that,  as  Lady  Macbeth 
said,  they  really  do  hold  all  they  have  in  readiness  for  their  king. 
After  the  bustle  of  this  preparation  has  passed  there  may  be  a 
long  impressive  pause  before  Macbeth  enters. 

1.  If  it  were  done,  etc. : that  is,  if  the  deed,  when  done,  were 
only  followed  by  no  consequences,  but  were  really  ended. 

3.  Could  trammel  up : could  fetter,  or  net,  the  consequences, 
— prevent  their  naturally  following. 

3.  catch  With  his  surcease : could  catch  success,  assured  at 
the  moment  of  the  ceasing  of  the  king’s  life,  — or  possibly  the 
moment  of  the  ceasing  of  the  action  of  killing. 

4.  that  but  this  blow : in  the  sense  of,  oh  that  this  blow  might 
be,  etc. 

6.  shoal  of  time : possibly  school  of  time  — as  is  sustained 
by  the  “ teach  bloody  instructions.”  If  shoal , it  must  mean  that 
human  life  in  its  shortness  is  like  a narrow  strip  of  land  surrounded 
by  the  ocean. 

6-7.  But  here  . . . We  ’Id  jump : if  only  here  we  could  jump, 
that  is,  escape,  the  life  to  come. 

250 


Act  I,  Scene  7. 


Notes. 


8.  have  judgment  here : meet  our  retributions  here  in  this 
present  life. 

8.  that  we  : inasmuch  as  we,  etc. 

9.  which,  being  taught : if  he  kills  his  king,  then  some  subject 
of  his,  taught  by  his  own  example,  may  kill  him  when  he  becomes 
king. 

11.  Commends : offers. 

14.  Strong  both  : strong  arguments  both. 

17.  faculties  : powers  of  kingship. 

20.  taking-off : murder. 

21.  pity,  like  a naked  new-born  babe  : the  comparison  is  diffi- 
cult to  explain  word  for  word.  The  general  meaning  is  that  the 
tender  pity  a mother  feels  for  a helpless  child  will  become  a 
messenger  of  vengeance  to  every  part  of  the  world. 

23.  sightless  couriers  of  the  air : the  winds  as  they  blow. 

25-27.  spur,  prick,  Vaulting,  o’erleaps  : all  show  the  sustained 
metaphor  of  the  rider  jumping  into  his  saddle  with  too  great  a 
leap  which  takes  him  over  the  other  side  of  his  saddle. 

28.  the  other  : the  other  side. 

* — * Enter  Lady  Macbeth : her  speeches  here  are  in  an  intense 
anxious  whisper,  as  if  she  could  not  understand  how  he  could 
run  the  risk  of  absenting  himself  from  the  feast. 

35.  Was  the  hope  drunk  : literally,  were  you  then  drunk  when 
you  first  talked  to  me  of  becoming  king? 

39.  Such  I account  thy  love  : then  I shall  think  your  love  for 
me  inspired  only  by  wine.  It  is  a severe  taunt  — but  a telling 
one,  cold,  contemptuous,  calculated  to  sting. 

39.  Art  thou  afeard  To  be : does  she  not  know  he  is  just  that 
type  of  coward?  Yet  by  such  questioning  do  we  not  often  re- 
claim a person? 

42.  the  ornament  of  life  : the  crown. 

43.  a coward  in  thine  own  esteem : would  this  really  affect 
Macbeth  as  it  would  affect  her  sensibilities? 

45.  Like  the  poor  cat : the  saying  was,  “ The  cat  would  eat 
fish  but  would  not  wet  her  feet.” 

'—45.  Prithee,  peace : all  that  she  has  said  is  more  than  he  can 
understand. 


251 


Notes. 


Act  I,  Scene  7. 


47.  Who  dares  do  more,  etc. : of  course  Macbeth’s  reasoning  is 
perfectly  good ; but  this  is  a crisis  where  Lady  Macbeth’s  will 
must  work  even  if  with  a quip.  So  she  pursues,  “ What  beast 
was  it  then,”  etc.,  taunting  him  again  with  the  inconsistency  of 
the  position  he  is  taking.  The  words  should  be  spoken  slowly, 
so  that  beast  may  hiss  long  upon  Macbeth’s  ears. 

48.  break  this  enterprise  : the  clearest  proof  here  of  confidences 
upon  this  matter  before  the  play  opens. 

51.  Be  so  much  more  the  man : is  this  safe  argument? 

62.  adhere : were  in  accord  with  our  designing. 

54.  I have  given  suck,  etc. : that  is,  I am  capable  of  cruelty 
now  only  because  I have  sworn  a vow  to  do  this  thing.  I am 
sacrificing  my  feelings,  but  I do  it  for  the  sake  of  consistency. 

69.  If  we  should  fail : is  there  anything  else  but  this  weakest 
of  weak  objections  he  can  make  after  the  fire  of  her  words? 
”T>9.  We  fail:  scorn  and  impatience.  We  fail ; we  do  but 
then  stand  for  the  consequences.  We  fail  l how  can  you 
suggest  such  a thing?  The  inflection  of  the  voice  may  give 
any  of  these  three  interpretations.  But  the  voice  should  not 
fail  to  emphasize  we  — as  if  such  partnership  could  possibly  be 
unsuccessful. 

60.  screw  your  courage : as  one  screws  up  the  chords  of  a 

stringed  instrument  to  the  point  or  pitch  of  proper  tension,  and 
finds  the  peg  there  fast  in  “ the  sticking  place.”  * 

61.  When  Duncan  is  asleep : notice  how  rapidly  she  flies 
through  the  outline  of  the  plan  — all  to  give  Macbeth  courage. 

64.  wine  and  wassail : the  drinking  of  a merry  cup  at  the 
feast  — such  a feast  as  is  going  on  this  night. 

64.  convince : overpower. 

65.  memory,  the  warder  of  the  brain  : our  memories  do,  from 
former  experiences,  warn  the  reason  against  similar  dangers  a 
second  time.  Wine  converts  the  memory  into  a mere  fume,  or 
fog,  that  fills  the  brain,  the  receptacle  of  reason,  which  thus  be- 
comes like  the  condensing  vessel,  or  “ limbeck,”  alembic  of  a 
still,  hazy  with  the  fumes. 

71.  spongy : drunken. 

72.  quell:  killing  — from  the  Anglo-Saxon  cwellan,  “ to  kill.” 

252 


Act  I.  Scene  7. 


Notes. 


72.  Bring  forth,  etc. : how  quickly  she  can  supplement  his 
weaknesses. 

-^77.  Who  dares  receive  it  other : spoken  with  the  dignity  and 
confidence  of  one  who  feels  herself  already  a queen. 

79.  bend  up  Each  corporal  agent : bend  all  my  physical,  bodily 
powers  — which  he  had  in  excess  of  hers  surely  — to  carry 
through  the  terrible  feat. 

81.  mock  the  time  : Macbeth  here  echoes  the  admonition  of 
Lady  Macbeth  in  I,  5,  line  62  and  following.  How  long  he  is, 
though,  in  seeing  the  points  she  makes  so  resourcefully. 

DISCUSSION 

Quiller-Couch,  writing  of  the  “ splendid  audacity  ” Shake- 
speare shows  in  daring  to  make  Macbeth  a “ murderer  for  pri- 
vate profit,”  — who  can  still  engage  always  our  pity  for  him  — 
says : “ Instead  of  using  a paltry  chance  to  condone  Macbeth’s 
guilt,  he  seized  on  it  and  plunged  it  threefold  deeper,  so  that  it 
might  verily 

‘ the  multitudinous  seas  incarnadine.’ 

“ Think  of  it : — 

“ He  made  this  man,  a sworn  soldier,  murder  Duncan,  his 
liege-lord. 

“ He  made  this  man,  a host,  murder  Duncan,  a guest  within 
his  guests. 

“ He  made  this  man,  strong  and  hale,  murder  Duncan,  old, 
weak,  asleep  and  defenceless. 

“ He  made  this  man  commit  murder  for  nothing  but  his  own 
advancement. 

“ He  made  this  man  murder  Duncan,  who  had  steadily  ad- 
vanced him  hitherto,  who  had  never  been  aught  but  trustful, 
and  who  (that  no  detail  of  reproach  might  be  wanting)  had  that 
very  night,  as  he  retired,  sent,  in  most  kindly  thought,  the  gift 
of  a diamond  to  his  hostess. 

“ To  sum  up : instead  of  extenuating  Macbeth’s  criminality, 
Shakespeare  doubles  and  redoubles  it.  Deliberately  this  mag- 

253 


Notes. 


Act  II,  Scene  1. 


nificent  artist  locks  every  door  on  condonation,  plunges  the  guilt 
deep  as  hell,  and  then  — tucks  up  his  sleeves.” 

Is  Macbeth  in  the  scene  searching  himself,  his  soul,  or  his 
chances  of  succeeding  in  the  eyes  of  the  world?  Does  he  feel 
more  compunction  now  that  Duncan  is  about  to  feast  and  sleep 
in  his  castle?  Make  a list  of  his  reasons  against  murdering  the 
king,  and  note  how  conventional  they  all  are.  What  is  the  one 
great  reason  that  he  seems  unconscious  of?  When  Lady  Mac- 
beth finds  him  lost  in  this  maze  of  reasoning,  how  many  keys 
does  she  play  upon  to  try  to  recall  him  to  a fixed  purpose?  — 
there  are  impatience,  contempt,  scorn,  tenderness,  bitterness, 
exaggeration  of  what  she  really  knows  is  true,  even  resentment 
What  speech  shows  each  of  these?  What  do  you  think  is  the 
most  telling  of  all  her  attacks?  Just  how  in  this  scene  is  she 
the  perfect  complement  of  her  lord?  Just  what  terrible  mo- 
ments must  there  have  been  for  her  in  this  long  discussion,  un- 
certain in  its  outcome?  Why  is  this  scene  the  real  end  of  Act 
I?  The  period  of  temptation  now  lived  through  — or  rather, 
fought  through  — the  next  unit  of  construction  must,  of  course, 
be  the  enactment  of  the  crime.  Which  do  you  think  will  be 
the  more  engrossing  to  watch?  Can  there  be  as  much  intense 
human  interest  in  watching  the  actual  perpetration  of  a crime 
as  in  watching  its  inception  in  a human  mind,  or  its  conse- 
quences afterward?  With  the  end  of  Act  I we  are  at  home  with 
two  great  dramatic  characters,  and  with  them  are  plunged  in  a 
situation  from  which  there  is  now  no  escape. 

ACT  II 
Scene  1 

Court  of  Macbeth’s  castle : probably  some  inner  court  which 
Banquo  would  cross  between  the  hall  of  feasting  and  his  cham- 
ber. Fleance  attends  him  as  his  young  squire,  bearing  the 
light,  helping  his  father  off  with  his  armor.  The  darkness  is 
lighted  only  by  fitful  flashes  from  the  torch ; and  over  us,  as  we 
watch,  comes  the  consciousness  that  we  are  to  move  largely  in 

254 


Act  II,  Scene  1. 


Notes. 


scenes  removed  from  the  real  scene  of  action.  The  murders 
themselves  we  do  not  see ; we  see  the  mental  agitation  of  those 
who  go  to  kill,  their  abject  terror  the  moment  the  deed  is  done  — 
and  the  restless  fever  of  those  — like  Banquo  here  — who  are 
uneasily  conscious  that  something  terrible  is  about  them.  So 
we  go  through  this  tragedy  of  souls  — not  at  all  through  a series 
of  sensational  crimes. 

4.  husbandry  : thrift  so  far  as  the  light  of  the  stars  goes ; cloudy. 

— "6.  Take  thee  that  too  : giving  Fleance  another  piece  of  armor. 

8.  cursed  thoughts  : do  you  think  this  means  his  own  wonder- 
ment about  the  prophecy  to  himself  — or  has  he  actual  fears 
for  Macbeth? 

10.  Who  ’s  there  ? An  unknown  person,  in  the  dark,  was  al- 
ways halted  and  challenged  as  an  enemy.  Hence  the  answer 
“ A friend.” 

14.  largess  to  your  offices  : gifts  to  be  distributed  among  Mac- 
beth’s servants. 

16.  shut  up : is  absorbed  and  at  rest,  as  he  turns  to  sleep,  in 
his  content  over  Macbeth’s  loyal  entertainment. 

18.  became  the  servant : being  unprepared  we  could  not  cele- 
brate his  coming  as  we  would  wish  to  do. 

20.  I dreamt : does  this  mean  that  Banquo’s  dreams  are 
haunted  by  the  prophecies?  Are  these  the  “cursed  thoughts” 
he  refers  to  in  the  beginning  of  the  scene? 

21.  I think  not  of  them : in  what  sense  may  this  be  true? 

26.  cleave  to  my  consent : this  must  mean,  if  you  will,  when  we 
come  to  talk  together,  stand  by  my  side  in  all  my  plans,  I will, 
as  king,  reward  you  with  great  honors. 

26.  lose  none  : no  honor. 

28.  bosom  franchised  : free  from  guilt. 

29.  shall  be  counselled : shall  be  willing  to  talk  things  over 
with  you. 

-Exeunt  Banquo  and  Fleance : first  Fleance  bears  away  his 

torch,  then  Macbeth  dismisses  his  torch  bearer  — imagine  the 
darkness  and  the  tense  atmosphere  of  that  darkness.  Lady 
Macbeth  is  preparing  for  him  the  drink  that  shall  give  him  cour- 
age for  the  deed  ahead. 


Notes. 


Act  II,  Scene  1. 


33.  Is  this  a dagger,  etc. : can  we  describe  the  tone  in  which 
Macbeth  says  this?  It  combines  surprise,  awe,  dread,  encour- 
agement, confidence,  a chance  again  to  believe  his  fate  is  di- 
rected by  something  outside  himself  and  to  shift,  in  this  sense, 
some  of  the  responsibility. 

34.  let  me  clutch  thee : what  is  the  action  here? 

35.  I see  thee  yet : why  does  the  dagger  grow  alternately 
fainter  and  stronger  as  he  talks  ? 

41.  As  this  which  now  I draw  : what  is  his  action,  and  what 
comparison  does  he  make? 

42.  that  I was  going : put  the  emphasis  upon  was,  meaning, 
that  I was  going  anyway,  with  or  without  your  invitation. 

44.  are  made  the  fools  : if  the  dagger  is  unreal  his  eyes  are 
fooled ; if  it  is  real,  then  his  eyes  are  worth  more  than  his  sense 
of  touch,  for  he  cannot  touch  the  dagger. 

46.  dudgeon  : wooden  handle. 

46.  gouts  of  blood  : drops ; from  the  Latin  gutta. 

47.  Which  was  not  so  before : why  should  the  vision  change 
as  he  proceeds? 

49.  Now  o’er  the  one  half-world : this  hemisphere. 

61.  curtained  sleep  : while  not  an  unusual  epithet  to  apply  to 
sleep  then,  does  it  not  here  bring  vividly  before  us  the  picture 
of  the  sleeping  king,  the  curtains  of  his  bed  drawn  protectingly 
around  him? 

61.  witchcraft  celebrates,  etc. : the  rites  paid  by  all  demons 
of  the  night  to  Hecate,  the  pale  queen  of  the  lower  world.  A night 
of  sorcery,  murder,  and  rape  is  described  in  these  lines,  — as 
Johnson  calls  it,  “ the  night  of  the  murderer.” 

64.  Whose  howl ’s  his  watch  : who  marks  this  watch  through 
the  night  by  his  howls. 

66.  Tarquin’s  ravishing  strides  : can  we  not  feel  the  suspense 
in  those  hushed  long  slow  steps  with  which  one  moves  among 
sleepers  ? 

66.  sure  and  firm-set  earth : is  it  a comfort  to  him  to  feel 
it  solid  beneath  his  feet;  and  then  does  he  realize  that  this  very 
solidity  makes  it  reecho  every  one  of  his  footsteps? 

69.  the  present  horror : it  does  suit  the  time  of  midnight. 

256 


Act  II,  Scene  1. 


Notes. 


61.  Words  to  the  heat,  etc. : is  it  natural  that  he  should  be 
epigrammatic  at  this  crisis? 

A bell  rings  : that  is,  of  course,  the  bell  that  Lady  Macbeth 
was  to  strike  to  show  that  all  is  ready  for  him  to  go  to  Duncan’s 
chamber.  How  symbolic  of  the  whole  situation  it  is  that  she, 
having  prepared  the  details  with  her  sure  instinct,  calls  her  lord 
to  do  the  last  thing  that  she  could  not ! Kemble,  in  his  pro- 
duction, substituted  here  the  striking  of  the  clock  twice  — to 
agree  with  the  words  of  Lady  Macbeth  in  the  sleepwalking 
scene,  “ One,  two,  why  then  ’t is  time  to  do  it!”  But  how 
much  more  significance  there  is  at  this  point  in  her  summon- 
ing Macbeth. 

63.  Hear  it  not : to  be  spoken  with  genuine  sadness  — but  no 
lack  of  determination. 


DISCUSSION 

The  opening  lines  of  a scene  always  strike  the  keynote : what 
is  it  here?  Both  in  nature  and  in  the  heart  of  Banquo?  What 
does  Fleance  add  to  the  scene?  Are  natural  conversations  in 
a low,  even  key  like  this  between  father  and  son  necessarily  un- 
dramatic? 

To  what  degree  may  Banquo’s  mind  be  disturbed  without 
detracting  from  the  contrast  between  him  and  Macbeth  ? Why 
should  Banquo  immediately  begin  to  speak  to  Macbeth  about 
the  king?  Banquo  is  praying  against  thoughts  of  temptation 
in  his  sleep ; Macbeth  is  moving  “ steadily  toward  his  design  ” ; 
is  he  too  noble  really  to  believe  his  suspicion  of  Macbeth? 
otherwise,  would  he  not  have  tried  to  stop  Macbeth,  or  warn 
Duncan?  Where  does  his  clear  frankness  receive  in  return  an 
intentional  obscurity  from  Macbeth?  Does  this  add  anything 
to  the  scene?  What  is  the  real  cause  for  the  apparition  of  the 
dagger?  Would  you  represent  the  dagger  to  the  audience? 
Is  there,  in  the  fact  that  it  appears  and  disappears,  any  evi- 
dence of  the  cause  of  its  appearing  at  all?  Is  the  apparition 
necessary  to  spur  Macbeth  on  to  the  deed,  — or  is  it  simply  to 
keep  in  our  minds  the  supernatural  as  an  abiding  element  in  this 

257 


Notes. 


Act  II,  Scene  2. 


tragedy?  Why  should  the  apparition  change  in  appearance? 
Story  says : “ In  this  (soliloquy)  we  have  Macbeth’s  three  char- 
acteristic features  brought  out  one  after  the  other : the  cloudy 
vision  of  the  air-drawn  dagger;  then  the  strong  fire  of  his 
poetry  about  Hecate  and  withered  murder’s  sentinel,  the  wolf, 
and  Tarquin’s  ravishing  strides;  and  as  these  clear  off,  the 
stern,  sullen  resolution  underneath  — ‘ Whiles  I threat,  he 

lives.’  ^ I go,  and  it  is  done  ! ’ ” How;  do  you  account  for  his 
“ Straw  fire  ” description  of  the  night?  Is  it  of  real  value  here? 
What  is  the  sharp  note  of  reality  that  recalls  him  to  himself? 
Where  should  the  actor  of  the  part  make  his  aspect  most  lost 
and  bewildered?  Where  should  he  quiet  most  his  disordered 
imagination?  Has  Macbeth  a dramatic  appreciation  of  how 
the  night  fits  the  horror  of  the  deed?  Is  it  natural?  Does 
Lady  Macbeth  give  any  such  expression  to  her  feeling  about  the 
night?  Why  should  the  silence  of  the  night  bear  in  upon  him 
heavier  even  than  the  darkness?  If  we  have  commonly  dra- 
matic contrast,  and  dramatic  grouping,  why  may  we  not  have 
dramatic  separation,  — such  a separation  as  this  between  Mac- 
beth and  Lady  Macbeth?  Are  we  not  really  conscious  of  her, 
and  what  she  is  doing  throughout  the  scene? 


ACT  II 

Scene  2 

2.  quenched  them : put  them  to  sleep. 

2.  given  me  fire  : is  there  not  a vivid  glimpse  here  of  the  quick 
and  delicate  fire  of  which  her  nature  is  made? 

3.  fatal  bellman  : the  owl,  as  always,  the  bird  of  ill-omen.  The 
bellman  sometimes  had  as  his  duty  to  summon  condemned  per- 
sons to  their  doom. 

6.  possets : the  night  cup  of  hot  milk  and  ale. 

9.  Within:  just  where  does  this  mean? 

13.  Had  he  not  resembled  : he  is  Duncan,  of  course.  What 
light  does  the  speech  throw  upon  Lady  Macbeth’s  nature? 

25  8 


Act  II,  Scene  2. 


Notes. 


My  husband : a moment  of  terrible  mutual  understand- 
ing, like  that  when  Macbeth  comes  back  from  battle  just  as  she 
has  finished  reading  his  letter.  It  is  said  that  Forrest’s  way  of 
acting  this  was  to  come  from  the  king’s  chamber  backward, 
with  his  hands  dripping  with  blood,  and,  not  expecting  to  find 
Lady  Macbeth  standing  in  the  court,  he  stumbles  backward 
against  her.  They  both  start  and  gaze  at  each  other  in  terror 
as  she  cries  “ My  husband ! ” 

21.  This  is  a sorry  sight : what  pulls  Macbeth  away  from 
this  useless  contemplation  of  his  hands? 

26.  There  are  two  lodged  together : why  does  she  give  so  sim- 
ple and  matter-of-fact  an  explanation? 

27.  Amen:  realizing  that  the  word  means  “ so  be  it,”  and  im- 
plies a spiritual  harmony  with  the  words  that  precede  it  throws 
light  upon  this  agony  of  Macbeth’s. 

35.  Sleep  no  more  : these  three  words,  spoken  here  for  the  first 
time,  echo  and  reecho  through  the  entire  play. 

37.  Sleep  that  knits  up  : what  but  a half-crazed  brain  could  so 
swiftly  rush  through  a list  of  metaphors?  Lady  Macbeth’s 
“ What  do  you  mean?  ” indicates  she  thinks  she  must  recall 
him  to  his  senses  or  he  will  go  mad. 

39.  second  course  : chief  course  in  the  feast. 

42.  Glamis  hath  murdered  sleep,  etc. : what  is  the  effect  of 
Macbeth’s  recital  of  his  own  name  ? 

46.  Go  get  some  water : Lady  Macbeth  is  really  in  terror  for 
fear  Macbeth’s  mind  is  breaking;  so,  as  always,  she  calls  him 
back  with  a simple  thing  — “ Go,  get  some  water  ” — and  the 
danger  is  averted.  It  is  not  her  belief  that  water  can  wash 
away  the  guilt,  but  it  is  her  belief  that  only  a commonplace 
action  can  recall  Macbeth. 

47.  filthy  witness : the  blood  on  his  hand. 

48.  Why  did  you  bring,  etc. : imagine  the  awful  moment  when 
she  realizes  the  dangerous  thing  he  has  done  in  his  agitation.  I 
do  not  take  it  that  she  is  contemptuous  of  his  error,  but  that  she 
feelsXin  an  instant  that  the  journey  must  be  made  again  back  to 
the  king’s  chamber.  As  she  knew  instantly,  Macbeth  could 
not  do  it.  There  is  more  feeling  of  criticism  in  “ Infirm  of  pur- 

259 


Notes. 


Act  II,  Scene  2. 


pose ! ” and  still,  I think,  no  real  exasperation  as  she  takes  the 
daggers. 

63.  the  sleeping  and  the  dead  : how  well  her  philosophy  stands 
by  her  here  ! 

66.  painted  devil : it  was  Macbeth’s  own  idea  to  make  these 
painted  devils  by  smearing  the  faces  of  the  grooms  with  blood. 

66.  gild  the  faces  : to  gild  with  blood  was  a common  expression 
in  those  days.  There  may  be  here  a quibble  on  guilt  and  gilt  — 
which  would  have  to  be  ascribed  to  hysterical  strain. 

67.  Knocking  within : “ From  my  boyish  days  I had  always 
felt  a great  perplexity  on  one  point  in  Macbeth.  It  was  this: 
the  knocking  at  the  gate,  which  succeeds  to  the  murder  of  Dun- 
can, produced  to  my  feelings  an  effect  for  which  I never  could 
account.  The  effect  was,  that  it  reflected  back  upon  the  mur- 
der a peculiar  awfulness  and  depth  of  solemnity;  yet,  however 
obstinately  I endeavored  with  my  understanding  to  comprehend 
this,  for  many  years  I never  could  see  why  it  should  produce 
such  an  effect.  ...  At  length  I solved  (the  problem)  to  my 
own  satisfaction ; and  my  solution  is  this.  Murder,  in  ordinary 
cases,  where  the  sympathy  is  wholly  directed  to  the  case  of  the 
murdered  person,  is  an  incident  of  coarse  and  vulgar  horror; 
and  for  this  reason,  that  it  flings  the  interest  exclusively  upon 
the  natural  but  ignoble  instinct  by  which  we  cleave  to  life ; an 
instinct,  which,  as  being  indispensable  to  the  primal  law  of  self- 
preservation,  is  the  same  in  kind  (though  different  in  degree) 
amongst  all  living  creatures;  this  instinct,  therefore,  because 
it  annihilates  all  distinctions,  and  degrades  the  greatest  of  men 
to  the  level  of  the  ‘ poor  beetle  that  we  tread  on/  exhibits  human 
nature  in  its  most  abject  and  humiliating  attitude.  Such  an 
attitude  would  little  suit  the  purposes  of  the  poet.  What  then 
must  he  do?  He  must  throw  the  interest  on  the  murderer. 
Our  sympathy  must  be  with  him  (of  course,  I mean  a sympa- 
thy of  comprehension,  a sympathy  by  which  we  enter  into  his 
feelings,  and  are  made  to  understand  them  — not  a sympathy 
of  pity  or  approbation).  In  the  murdered  person,  all  strife  of 
thought,  all  flux  and  reflux  of  passion  and  of  purpose,  are  crushed 
by  one  overwhelming  panic;  the  fear  of  instant  death  smites 

260 


Act  II,  Scene  2. 


Notes. 


him  ‘with  its  petrific  mace.’  But  in  the  murderer,  such  a mur- 
derer as  a poet  will  condescend  to,  there  must  be  raging  some 
great  storm  of  passion,  — jealousy,  ambition,  vengeance,  ha- 
tred, — which  will  create  a hell  within  him ; and  into  this  hell 
we  are  to  look.  In  Macbeth , for  the  sake  of  gratifying  his  own 
enormous  and  teeming  faculty  of  creation,  Shakespeare  has 
introduced  two  murderers,  and,  as  usual  in  his  hands,  they  are 
remarkably  discriminated ; but,  though  in  Macbeth  the  strife 
of  mind  is  greater  than  in  his  wife,  the  tiger  spirit  not  so  awake, 
and  his  feelings  caught  chiefly  by  contagion  from  her,  — yet, 
as  both  were  finally  involved  in  the  guilt  of  murder,  the  mur- 
derous mind  of  necessity  is  finally  to  be  presumed  in  both.  This 
was  to  be  expressed ; and  on  its  own  account,  as  well  as  to  make 
it  a more  proportionable  antagonist  to  the  unoffending  nature 
of  their  victim,  ‘ the  gracious  Duncan,’  and  adequately  to  ex- 
pound the  ‘ deep  damnation  of  his  taking  off,’  this  was  to  be  ex- 
pressed with  peculiar  energy.  We  were  to  be  made  to  feel  that 
the  human  nature  — i.e.  the  divine  nature  of  love  and  mercy, 
spread  through  the  hearts  of  all  creatures,  and  seldom  utterly 
withdrawn  from  man  — was  gone,  vanquished,  extinct;  and 
that  the  fiendish  nature  had  taken  its  place.  And,  as  this  effect 
is  marvellously  accomplished  in  the  dialogues  and  soliloquies 
themselves,  so  it  is  finally  consummated  by  the  expedient  under 
consideration ; and  it  is  to  this  that  I now  solicit  the  reader’s 
attention.  If  the  reader  has  ever  witnessed  a wife,  daughter, 
or  sister  in  a fainting  fit,  he  may  chance  to  have  observed  that 
the  most  affecting  moment  in  such  a spectacle  is  that  in  which 
a sigh  or  a stirring  announces  the  recommencement  of  suspended 
life.  Or,  if  the  reader  has  ever  been  present  in  a vast  metrop- 
olis on  a day  when  some  great  national  idol  was  carried  in  fu- 
neral pomp  to  his  grave,  and  chancing  to  walk  near  the  course 
through  which  it  passed,  has  felt  powerfully,  in  the  silence  and 
desertion  of  the  streets,  and  in  the  stagnation  of  ordinary  busi- 
ness, the  deep  interest  which  at  that  moment  was  possessing  the 
heart  of  man,  — if  all  at  once  he  should  hear  the  death-like  still- 
ness broken  up  by  the  sound  of  wheels  rattling  away  from  the 
scene,  and  making  known  that  the  transitory  vision  was  dis- 


Notes. 


Act  II.  Scene  2. 


solved,  he  will  be  aware  that  at  no  moment  was  his  sense  of  the 
complete  suspension  and  pause  in  ordinary  human  concerns  so 
full  and  affecting  as  at  that  moment  when  the  suspension  ceases, 
and  the  goings-on  of  human  life  are  suddenly  resumed.  All 
action  in  any  direction  is  best  expounded,  measured,  and  made 
apprehensible  by  reaction.  Now  apply  this  to  the  case  of  Mac- 
beth. Here,  as  I have  said,  the  retiring  of  the  human  heart, 
and  the  entrance  of  the  fiendish  heart,  was  to  be  expressed  and 
made  sensible.  Another  world  has  stept  in,  and  the  murderers 
are  taken  out  of  the  region  of  human  beings,  human  purposes, 
human  desires.  They  are  transfigured  : Lady  Macbeth  is  ‘ un- 
sexed  ’ ; ‘Macbeth  has  forgot  that  he  was  born  of  woman;  both 
are  conformed  to  the  image  of  devils;  and  the  world  of  devils 
is  suddenly  revealed.  But  how  shall  this  be  conveyed  and  made 
palpable?  In  order  that  a new  world  may  step  in,  this  world 
must  for  a time  disappear.  The  murderers,  and  the  murder, 
must  be  insulated,  — cut  off  by  an  immeasurable  gulf  from  the 
ordinary  tide  and  succession  of  human  affairs,  — locked  up  and 
sequestered  in  some  deep  recess ; we  must  be  made  sensible 
that  the  world  of  ordinary  life  is  suddenly  arrested,  — laid 
asleep,  tranced,  — raked  into  a dread  armistice ; time  must  be 
annihilated ; relation  to  things  without  abolished ; and  all  must 
pass  self-withdrawn  into  a deep  syncope  and  suspension  of 
earthly  passion.  Hence  it  is,  that  when  the  deed  is  done,  when 
the  work  of  darkness  is  made  perfect,  then  the  world  of  dark- 
ness passes  away  like  a pageantry  in  the  clouds;  the  knocking 
at  the  gate  is  heard;  and  it  makes  known  audibly  that  the  re- 
action has  commenced;  the  human  mind  has  made  its  reflux 
upon  the  fiendish ; the  pulses  of  life  are  beginning  to  beat  again ; 
and  the  re-establishment  of  the  goings-on  of  the  world  in  which 
we  live,  first  makes  us  profoundly  sensible  of  the  awful  paren- 
thesis that  had  suspended  them.” 

— -De  Quincey’s  Essay  on  The  Knocking  at  the  Gate  in  “ Macbeth. ” 

69.  pluck  out  mine  eyes : draw  my  eyes  out  of  their  sockets. 

62.  multitudinous  seas : the  mass  of  waters  on  this  globe  — 
the  multitude  of  seas,  wave  upon  wave  in  multitude. 

62.  incarnadine  : change  to  red. 

262 


Act  II,  Scene  2. 


Notes. 


63.  Making  the  green  one  red : note  the  two  readings  possi- 
ble, according  as  the  comma  is  put  after  green , or  after  one. 

Is  there  any  real  transition  here  in  Macbeth’s  thought  from 
his  hands,  both  hands,  to  the  one  hand  that  did  the  deed? 

64.  I shame  to  wear : notice  how  this  declaration  of  hers  is 
almost  shattered  by  the  knocking.  Again  she  suggests  the  prac- 
tical thing  to  do. 

73.  To  know  my  deed : if  I must  face  my  deed,  I would  bet- 
ter lose  all  consciousness  of  myself. 

74.  Wake  Duncan  : this  is  a genuine  wish.  It  reminds  us  of 
the  end  of  the  preceding  scene.  He  is  rooted  to  the  spot,  in 
spite  of  the  knocking.  Lady  Macbeth  must  pull  him  away. 

DISCUSSION 

“ Macbeth  (as  I have  said  and  as  others  have  said  before  me) 
curiously  resembles  Greek  tragedy  in  a dozen  ways,  of  which  I 
will  mention  but  one  more. 

“ Though  it  is  full  of  blood  and  images  of  blood,  the  important 
blood-shedding  is  hidden,  removed  from  the  spectator’s  sight. 
There  is,  to  be  sure,  a set  scene  for  Banquo’s  murder : but  it 
can  be  omitted  without  detriment  to  the  play,  and,  in  fact,  al- 
ways is  omitted.  Duncan  is  murdered  off  the  stage ; Lady 
Macbeth  dies  off  the  stage ; Macbeth  makes  his  final  exit  fight- 
ing, to  be  killed  off  the  stage.  There  is  nothing  here  like  the 
‘ blood-bolter’d  ’ culmination  of  Hamlet .”  — Quiller -Couch. 

It  is  difficult  to  realize  the  rapidity  with  which  events  follow 
one  another  in  this  scene.  The  bell  rings,  Macbeth  goes  to 
answer  the  king,  Lady  Macbeth  fills  the  stage- while  he  is  gone, 
confessing  that  she  almost  committed  the  murder  with  her  own 
hands,  Macbeth  comes  back  with  the  daggers  in  his  hands,  she 
goes  to  replace  them,  the  knocking  threatens  discovery,  and 
continues  till  she  hurries  him  away  lest  they  be  discovered.  It 
is  a wonderful  concentration  of  dramatic  interest.  It  is  also 
the  scene  which,  so  far,  puts  Lady  Macbeth  to  the  most  agoniz- 
ing test.  In  what  speeches  do  you  feel  this?  What  brings  her 
closer  to  your  sympathy  and  pity  here  ? How  do  you  think  she 
says  “ He  is  about  it  ”?  What  is  the  effect  of  Macbeth’s  first 

263 


Notes. 


Act  II,  Scene  3. 


cry  from  within,  “ Who’s  there?  ” What  is  the  significance  of 
those  incoherent  whispered  questions  and  answers  when  Mac- 
beth comes  back  from  the  murder?  Booth,  in  acting  here, 
made  as  if  to  stab  Lady  Macbeth  as  he  staggered  back,  as  if  he 
thought  she  was  the  one  he  heard  in  his  frenzy.  Both  are  at 
the  moment  of  collapse  here  — what  practical  thing  to  be  done 
saves  them?  Is  it  the  consequences  of  the  crime,  or  the  crime 
itself  that  affects  her?  that  affects  Macbeth?  Why  should 
Macbeth  complain  that  he  cannot  say  “ Amen  ” to  the  prayers 
of  the  grooms,  as  if  “ murder  and  praying  ” could  join  hand  and 
hand  in  friendly  companionship?  Is  it  not  like  Lady  Mac- 
beth’s analysis  of  him  — “ What  thou  wouldst  highly  that 
wouldst  thou  holily”?  Where  does  Lady  Macbeth  have  to 
summon  her  strength  most  to  call  Macbeth  back  to  his  senses? 
What  question  of  hers  is  a fine  remonstrance?  Where  does  she 
most  need  her  strength  for  action?  Is  her  remorse  more  real 
already  than  his?  How  does  that  affect  her  having  to  force 
herself  back  with  the  daggers?  Is  there  anything  significant 
in  the  fact  that  nowhere  throughout  the  scene  does  either  blame 
the  other  for  the  terrible  situation  in  which  they  find  them- 
selves? What  is  the  climax  of  the  whole  scene?  How  would 
you  proportion  the  impatience  of  the  four  knockings  at  the  end 
of  the  scene  ? By  this  threatened  entrance  of  some  one  from  the 
outside  world,  into  the  very  courtyard  itself,  the  dramatic  tense- 
ness is  so  heightened  that  there  can  be  no  pause  between  this 
and  the  following  scene.  Why  is  it  necessary,  however,  to  break 
this  strain? 

What  are  the  memorable  speeches  in  this  scene  ? 

ACT  II 
Scene  3 

The  first  of  this  scene  gives  just  time  for  Macbeth  and  Lady 
Macbeth  to  cover  up  their  guilt  before  they  are  called  by  the 
general  alarm.  It  so  relieves  for  the  first  time  the  strain  which 
we  have  felt  since  the  very  beginning  of  the  play.  Whether 
we  like  or  not  the  interruption  of  comedy  here,  we  must  feel 

264 


Act  II,  Scene  3. 


Notes. 


its  artistic  value  just  as  we  appreciate  the  grave  diggers  in  “ Ham- 
let.” Macduff  and  Lennox  were  appointed  to  call  the  king 
“ timely  ” and  they  have  been  kept  standing  outside  the  gate 
until  the  fifth  knock,  as  loud  and  startling  as  they  could  make 
it.  The  porter,  maudlin  drunk  from  the  feasting  which  he  has 
not  yet  slept  off,  comes  stumbling  out  through  the  dark,  cold 
courtyard,  unable  at  first  to  find  the  gate,  then  fumbling  at 
its  fastenings.  The  longer  he  is,  the  greater  the  dramatic 
suspense. 

2.  porter  of  hell-gate : in  the  old  Miracle  Plays  which  Shake- 
speare knew,  hell-gate  had  a porter,  called  Cerberus,  a kind  of 
counterpart  of  St.  Peter. 

2.  have  old : have  a hard  old  time. 

19.  primrose  way : Shakespeare  uses  the  phrase  many  times. 
In  “ Hamlet,”  I,  3,  line  50,  Ophelia  remonstrates  with  her 
brother  for  treading  “ the  primrose  path  of  dalliance.” 

20.  remember  the  porter : give  him  his  fee  — a fine  climax  of 
humor.  He  is  apparently  sober  enough  by  this  time. 

23,  29.  lie  so  late ; call  timely  : these  phrases  raise  the  question 
as  to  just  when  the  king  was  murdered.  A little  before  day- 
break is  the  criminal  hour  of  night,  the  hour  of  deepest  sleep 
and  greatest  opportunity  for  crime.  But  why  run  these  dra- 
matic events  by  the  hands  of  a clock? 

24.  second  cock : just  as  night  is  really  giving  place  to  day. 

28.  the  king  stirring : how  does  the  word  stirring  affect  us 

as  Macduff  speaks  it? 

30.  I ’ll  bring  you  to  him : Macbeth,  now  dealing  with  men, 
is  wholly  alert  to  play  his  part  well. 

32.  physics  : cure  by  physic  or  medicine. 

34.  limited  service  : appointed  service. 

35.  He  does,  etc. : again  a wavering  equivocal  answer  like 
those  Macbeth  gave  Lady  Macbeth  in  Act  I,  Sc.  5. 

40.  combustion : conflagrations. 

41.  New  hatched  to  the  woeful  time : events  about  to  hap- 
pen, in  keeping  with  the  woeful  time,  and  just  prophesied  “ with 
accents  terrible.” 

41.  obscure  bird : mysterious,  or  loving  the  dark. 

265 


Notes. 


Act  II,  Scene  3. 


44.  cannot  parallel  a fellow:  cannot  remember  its  equal. 
These  details  are  in  Holinshed’s  account  of  this  very  night. 

50.  Lord’s  anointed  temple:  cf.  2d  Corinthians,  VI,  16: 

“ Ye  are  the  temple  of  the  living  God.” 

54.  a new  Gorgon : the  classic  Gorgons  turned  those  who 
looked  upon  them  to  stone.  Who  destroyed  the  Gorgon  Medusa? 

60.  great  doom’s  image : an  image,  or  sight,  as  terrifying  as 
that  of  the  Last  Judgment. 

61.  sprites : rise  from  your  beds  as  from  your  graves,  walk- 
ing like  spirits,  to  match  the  horror  of  this  moment. 

64.  hideous  trumpet : harshly  imperious. 

64.  to  parley  : to  conference. 

65.  O gentle  Lady : knowing  what  we  do  of  the  part  played 
by  Lady  Macbeth  in  the  murder,  we  can  but  feel  the  dramatic 
significance  of  Macduff’s  words. 

75.  serious  in  mortality:  of  any  great  moment  in  this  mor- 
tal life. 

77.  mere  lees  : dregs,  left  this  vault  — life  — to  brag  of. 

80.  The  spring,  the  head,  etc. : again  Macbeth  embarks  upon 
a string  of  metaphors. 

83.  as  it  seemed : does  this  necessarily  imply  any  suspi- 
cion? 

84.  badged : blotched. 

85.  unwiped  . . . Upon  their  pillows : this  does  seem  a sus- 
picious situation. 

90.  That  I did  kill  them : how  well  this  intelligence  has  been 
kept  from  us  all  — even  from  Lady  Macbeth  — until  this  mo- 
ment when  it  could  serve  as  the  critical  situation  of  the  scene. 

91.  Who  can  be  wise,  etc. : again  Macbeth’s  mind  overflows 
with  fantastic  imagery. 

93.  expedition : haste. 

101.  Help  me  hence,  ho!  Now  is  Lady  Macbeth’s  presence 
in  this  scene  justified.  Upon  the  first  reading  does  the  fainting 
seem  to  you  real  or  feigned? 

103.  argument:  this  matter. 

105.  Hid  in  an  auger-hole  : no  place,  even  the  tiny  hole  bored 
by  an  auger,  is  too  small  to  hold  danger  to  our  lives. 

266 


Act  II,  Scene  3. 


Notes. 


106.  Let ’s  away : how  many  purposes  has  Shakespeare  in 
mind  to  serve  in  giving  this  conversation  between  the  sons  of 
Duncan.  Is  their  sorrow  very  strong,  to  be  so  easily  concealed? 
Or  is  their  fear  the  great  thing  put  immediately  upon  the  foot 
of  motion? 

109.  naked  frailties  hid : fully  dressed,  as  there  was  no  time 
to  do  when  the  “ hideous  trumpet  ” called  them  to  parley. 
Might  it  mean  “ recovered  our  betrayed  emotions”? 

113.  In  the  great  hand  of  God  I stand:  this  oath  must  be 
terrible  to  the  murderers. 

114.  undivulged  pretence : against  this  crime,  and  its  in- 
herent treason  not  yet  come  to  light. 

115.  So  all : Macbeth  here  hears  all  his  friends  take  solemn 
oath  against  him. 

116.  briefly : quickly. 

116.  manly  readiness:  full  dress  and  armor. 

125.  Hath  not  yet  lighted : if  one  who  wished  the  crown 
killed  the  king,  he  must  also  murder,  for  his  purpose,  the  two 
sons  of  the  king. 

128.  shift  away  : steal  away. 

DISCUSSION 

This  scene  shows  us  the  short  period  of  immediate  conceal- 
ment, bound  to  come  quickly,  and  bound  — why?  — to  re- 
quire the  presence  of  both  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth.  Our 
eyes  are  fixed  upon  them  and  them  only,  the  other  characters  are 
voices  only  to  us.  But  for  a breathing  space,  just  for  a second, 
we  may  laugh  at  the  porter.  Do  you  find  him  really  amusing? 
Coleridge  did  not  think  Shakespeare  wrote  the  porter  scene, 
but  allowed  another’s  hand  to  insert  it  to  appeal  to  the  mob. 

“ To  be  brief,  the  Porter’s  speech  is  just  such  a discharge,  vi- 
carious, of  the  spectator’s  overwrought  emotion ; and  it  is  quite 
accurately  cast  into  low,  everyday  language,  because  that  which 
knocks  at  the  gate  is  not  any  dark  terrific  doom  — for  all  the 
darkness,  all  the  terror,  is  cooped  within  — but  the  sane,  clear, 
broad,  ordinary  common  work-a-day  order  of  the  world  reas- 

267 


Notes. 


Act  II,  Scene  3. 


serting  itself,  and  none  the  more  relentingly  for  being  work-a- 
day,  and  common,  and  ordinary,  and  broad,  clear,  sane.” 

— Quitter -Couch. 

Has  not  Shakespeare  many  such  a grotesque  humorous  char- 
acter entering  even  his  tragedies  at  the  least  expected  moment? 
Name  some  of  them.  What  do  you  think  of  the  wording  of 
Macduff’s  first  two  questions?  Have  you  from  now  on  any 
feeling  of  sympathy  for  the  murdered  king?  Upon  whom  is 
Shakespeare  turning  all  our  sympathy?  Why?  Is  the  con- 
versation between  Macbeth  and  Macduff  and  Lennox  natural? 
Where  is  Macbeth’s  first  sign  of  weakening  from  his  assured 
bearing?  Should  he,  even  at  the  beginning,  be  able  to  blot  his 
internal  horror  from  his  face?  He  must  not  show  any  signs  of 
desperation  — except  in  his  eyes.  Fortunately  he  is  talking 
here  every  moment.  When  before  did  he  rather  over-talk  than 
fall  short?  What  speech  of  his  is  most  dangerously  exagger- 
ated here?  What  impulsive  action  of  his  has  wrecked  Lady 
Macbeth’s  carefully  laid  plan?  The  old  acting  versions  used 
to  omit  Lady  Macbeth’s  part  in  this  scene : why  was  Irving 
keen  to  restore  it?  What  are  the  arguments  for  and  against 
her  feigning  a swoon  when  she  hears  it?  What  do  you  think  of 
her  first  words  when  they  say  the  king  is  murdered,  — “ What? 
in  our  house!  ” Does  it  sound  like  innocence  or  guilt?  What 
dramatic  action  on  the  stage  could  follow  the  ringing  of  the 
alarum  bell  ordered  by  Macduff?  Would  you  like  a wild  com- 
motion on  the  stage,  a confused  gathering  of  half-dressed,  dazed 
men,  women,  children  — the  retainers  of  the  castle.  Does 
Macduff  impress  you  as  genuinely  horrified?  Why  does  he 
give  orders  in  Macbeth’s  castle?  Is  it  too  hard  that  Macbeth 
should  be  made  by  the  imperious  demand  of  Macduff  to  defend 
his  killing  of  the  grooms?  Did  he  succeed  in  this  defending  of 
himself  — or  did  Lady  Macbeth  accomplish  that?  Where  is 
the  real  climax  of  this  scene?  What  fills  in  the  dramatic  “ let- 
down ” and  silence  while  Lady  Macbeth  is  being  carried  out? 
Just  how  much  sorrow  do  the  sons  of  Duncan  really  feel? 
From  a dramatic  point  of  view  why  is  their  quick  withdrawal 
from  the  action  necessary?  Has  any  one  at  the  end  of  the  scene 

268 


Act  II,  Scene  4. 


Notes. 


any  definite  idea  of  who  killed  the  king?  Or,  as  in  life,  is  sur- 
prise too  great  as  yet  for  conjecture?  Is  the  descent  of  action 
during  the  dialogue  of  the  sons  too  sudden?  Would  you  to-day 
give  the  scene  earlier?  Where?  What  is  the  dramatic  effect 
of  an  empty  stage  at  the  end  of  the  scene  ? 

ACT  II 
Scene  4 

This  scene  might  seem  a useless  interruption  of  intense  tragic 
action,  unless  we  remember  that  all  through  the  play,  beginning 
with  the  storm  in  Act  I,  Scene  i,  Shakespeare  is  trying  to  estab- 
lish a close  affinity  between  spiritual  and  physical  storm  and 
darkness.  The  report  of  the  old  man  here  keeps  close  to  Holin- 
shed’s  version. 

4.  trifled : belittled. 

7.  travelling  lamp : as  a metaphor  for  the  sun  how  does  this 
appeal  to  us?  Is  there  any  comparison  for  the  sun  that  would 
seem  adequate?  We  are  told  that  the  word  lamp  was  much 
more  dignified  then  than  now.  Holinshed  says  that  this  fitful 
darkness  and  storm  lasted  six  months. 

12.  towering : soaring  above  her  prey  — sighting  it  before 
she  swoops  down  upon  it. 

13.  mousing  owl : by  a mere  owl  used  to  no  greater  prey 
than  mice  found  low  upon  the  ground. 

16.  minions : the  specially  cared  for  of  all  of  Duncan’s 
horses. 

18.  eat  each  other : so  Holinshed  says. 

— 21.  see  you  not?  Pointing  to  the  stormy  heavens. 

24.  pretend : intend. 

24.  suborned : bribed. 

27.  still : always. 

28.  Thriftless  ambition,  etc. : ambition  that  is  so  careless  of 
the  ultimate  gains  that  it  will  devour  the  source  of  its  own  life. 

31.  Scone:  the  ancient  residence  of  the  Scotch  monarchs, 
and  on  the  famous  “ stone  of  Scone  ” they  were  crowned.  The 

269 


Notes. 


Act  II,  Scene  4. 


stone  was  carried  to  Westminster  Abbey  by  Edward  I in  1296, 
and  is  now  inclosed  in  the  coronation  chair  there. 

33.  Colmekill : means  the  cell,  or  kill  of  the  island  St. 
Columba,  now  called  Ionia,  — one  of  the  Hebrides.  It  was 
one  of  the  earliest  Christianized  settlements,  and  a monastery 
and  cathedral  were  built  there.  All  the  old  monarchs  of  Scot- 
land were  buried  there,  down  to  Macbeth’s  time  — but  tradi- 
tion says  that  no  resting  place  was  allowed  his  body  there. 

36.  Fife  : his  own  castle;  Macduff  was  Thane  of  Fife. 

38.  Lest  our  old  robes,  etc. : recalls  the  lines  spoken  by  Ban- 
quo  in  Act  I,  Sc.  3,  line  145. 

DISCUSSION 

What  is  the  dramatic  value  of  the  Old  Man  in  this  scene? 
Do  you  recall  other  “ old  men  ” in  Shakespeare’s  plays?  What 
purposes  do  they  usually  serve?  Is  there  any  symbolism  in 
what  he  says  of  the  “ mousing  owl  ” killing  the  falcon,  and  in 
Duncan’s  horses  acting  so  against  nature?  In  what  tenor  do 
you  think  all  of  Ross’s  speeches  run  throughout  the  scene?  Do 
you  find  additional  evidence  here  for  seeing  him  as  an  intriguer, 
and  now  a time  server,  watching,  for  his  own  advantage,  the 
course  of  events?  Since  his  part  must  be  actually  acted,  is  it 
not  necessary  to  decide  just  what  is  the  bent  of  his  nature,  and 
the  import  of  all  his  lines?  What  is  implied  in  his  emphasis  on  the 
word  now  in  his  first  speech  upon  Macduff’s  entrance?  What 
questions  of  his  try  to  draw  out  Macduff?  Is  Macduff  evasive 
in  his  answers?  Nobly  so?  Which  is  his  best  answer?  When 
he  says  “puts  upon  them  suspicion  of  the  deed”  does  he  mean 
rightly  so?  How  would  you  read  all  the  well's  in  the  last 
speeches  of  Ross  and  Macduff?  What  sentence  of  Macduff’s 
implies  that  they  may  themselves  sometimes  have  to  face  danger 
from  Macbeth?  Why  will  not  Macduff  go  to  Scone?  Why 
does  Ross  go?  Are  you  surprised  at  Macduff’s  refusal?  What 
in  the  third  scene  prepared  us  for  it?  Do  you  think  the  scene  of 
sufficient  significance  to  be  witnessed  to-day  in  an  acting  version? 


270 


Act  III,  Scene  1. 


Notes. 


ACT  III 

Scene  1 

4.  stand  in ; stand  established  to  thy  posterity. 

7.  shine : Johnson’s  note  on  this  word  is  amusingly  Johnson- 
ian : “ appear  with  all  the  lustre  of  conspicuous  truth.” 

Sennet  sounded : a particular  set  of  notes  upon  the  trumpets 
distinct  from  and  possibly  more  dignified,  — often  announcing 
royalty  as  here,  — than  the  old  stage  direction  “ flourish.” 

Enter  Macbeth,  as  king,  etc. : this  is  the  first  time  that  we  have 
seen  them  as  king  and  queen.  What  a story  may  their  faces  ever 
so  soon  tell ! 

13.  all-thing  : altogether,  in  every  way. 

14.  solemn  supper  : banquet  of  high  ceremony. 

15.  Let  your  highness  Command  upon  me  : this  could  be  set , 
etc.,  so  as  to  make  command  a noun,  the  antecedent  of  which 
that  follows ; or  which  may  refer  to  the  idea  of  the  entire  pre- 
ceding clause. 

22.  still  hath  been  : always  has  been. 

22.  grave  and  prosperous  : a moment’s  thought  will  show  how 
well  selected  these  words  are. 

26.  go  not  my  horse  the  better : if  my  horse  go  not  better 
than  usual.  It  has  been  suggested  that  Banquo  thinks  of  his 
horse  as  running  a race  with  the  night,  in  which  the  horse  may 
or  may  not  prove  the  winner. 

33.  strange  invention : strange  tales  of  their  own  inventing. 

34.  cause  of  state:  matters  of  government;  affairs  of  state. 

44.  God  be  with  you : to  make  the  meter  right  this  must  be 

contracted  almost  into  our  present  “ good-by.” 

48.  To  be  thus  : to  be  king. 

50.  royalty : nobility  of  nature. 

51.  that  which  would  be  feared : a high-minded  integrity 
which  should  be  feared  by  me. 

56.  My  Genius : my  spirit,  or  soul. 

57.  Mark  Antony’s  was  by  Caesar : in  North’s  “ Plutarch  ” a 
soothsayer  told  Antony  that  “ his  fortune  was  altogether  blem- 
ished and  obscured  by  Caesar’s  fortune.”  Also  as  in  history 

271 


Notes. 


Act  III,  Scene  1. 


Antony  feared  Caesar  as  a political  rival,  just  so  Macbeth  here 
fears  that  Banquo  will  interfere  with  his  kingship. 

64.  No  son  of  mine : Macbeth  had  no  children ; those  of 
whom  Lady  Macbeth  spoke  in  the  first  act  were  hers  by  a for- 
mer marriage. 

65.  filed:  defiled. 

67.  rancors : bitterness. 

68.  mine  eternal  jewel : my  immortal  soul,  or  possibly  as  in 
“ Othello  ” : 

“ Good  name,  in  man  and  woman,  dear  my  lord, 

Is  the  immediate  jewel  of  their  souls.” 

69.  common  enemy : the  Evil  One. 

71.  list : usually  in  the  plural  — lists. 

72.  champion  me : not  fight  with  me,  in  the  usual  sense  of 
“ champion,”  but  be  a champion  against  me. 

two  Murderers : plainly  by  the  conversation  that  follows,  not 
as  yet  murderers,  but  desperate  characters  ready  for  any  crime. 

80.  passed  in  probation : passed  from  one  point  to  another  in 
the  way  of  proof. 

81.  borne  in  hand : deluded  by  false  promises.  Cf.  “ Hamlet,” 
II,  2,  line  67 : 

“ That  so  his  sickness,  age,  and  impotence, 

Was  falsely  borne  in  hand.” 

88.  so  gospelled : as  in  the  gospel  of  Matthew  V,  44,  “ pray 
for  them  which  despitefully  use  you,  and  persecute  you.” 

91.  We  are  men : we  are  not  such  saints  as  the  gospel  de- 
scribes, — we  are  merely  men,  and  feel  these  misfortunes  as  such. 

92,  95.  catalogue  . . . valued  file : putting  the  two  phrases 

side  by  side  instantly  brings  out  their  meaning. 

96.  the  subtle  : those  especially  cunning. 

100.  Particular  addition  : his  own  particular  characteristic. 

100.  the  bill  That  writes  them  all  alike : that  is,  the  general 
catalogue. 

102.  a station  in  the  file  : a position  of  distinction  in  the  gen- 
eral list  of  men. 

105.  Whose  : business  is  its  antecedent. 


Act  III,  Scene  1. 


Notes. 


112.  tugged  : handed  about  without  respite. 

116.  bloody  distance  : in  fencing  this  meant  within  such  dis- 
tance as  could  be  covered  by  the  combatants’  swords. 

118.  near’st  of  life  : my  most  vital  parts. 

120.  avouch  it : approve  it  to  myself,  and  force  my  realm  to 
accept  it. 

122.  but  wail : but  instead  I must  bewail  his  fall. 

127.  Though  our  lives : perhaps  he  meant  to  go  on  and  add 
“ pay  for  it.” 

128.  Your  spirits : we  should  use  the  singular  to-day. 

129.  advise  : really  means  instruct. 

130.  the  perfect  spy  o’  the  time : the  person  who  will 
appear  with  more  detailed  instructions  when  the  time  comes  to 
strike. 

132.  something  from  : some  distance  from. 

132.  always  thought : always  the  important  thing  to  keep  in 
mind. 

133.  That  I require  a clearness  : that  no  guilt  appear  to  attach 
to  me. 

134.  rubs : imperfections. 

141.  It  is  concluded  : the  plan  is  settled. 

DISCUSSION 

Since  the  third  act  usually  contains  the  crisis  of  Shakespeare’s 
tragedies  it  is  absorbing  here  to  see  how  Macbeth,  in  his  every 
act,  “ winds  up  ” quickly  to  its  end  the  doom  he  began  to  bring 
upon  himself  in  the  murder  of  the  second  act,  and  even  in  the 
entertainment  of  temptation  in  the  first.  We  feel  in  this  act 
hurried  up  to  a point  whence  we  know  a rapid  and  terrible  de- 
scent will  begin.  Is  there  in  Banquo’s  first  speech  any  real  long- 
ing for  his  oracle  to  come  true?  Is  his  “hush,  no  more”  a 
guilty  exclamation?  Is  it  possible  that  one  of  Macbeth’s  fears 
is  already  come  true  — that  he  may  “ teach  bloody  instructions 
which  return  to  plague  the  inventor  ” ? This  is  the  only  act  in 
the  play  where  Shakespeare  shows  us  the  king  and  queen  in  their 
royal  robes.  Do  they  “ sit  easily  ”? 

273 


Notes. 


Act  III,  Scene  1, 


“ Looking  into  the  matter  historically,  I cannot  find  that  the 
critics  even  began  to  do  Lady  Macbeth  justice  until  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons  taught  them.  Johnson,  for  example,  wrote  that  4 Lady 
Macbeth  is  merely  detested.’  An  amazing  judgment  that  seems 
to  one  who  saw  Ellen  Terry  rehearsing  the  part,  and  sat  and 
watched  John. Sargent  painting  her,  in  her  green  robe  of  beetles’ 
wings,  as  she  stood  in  the  act  of  lifting  the  crown  to  her  brow ! 

“ Exquisitely  chosen  moment ! For  reading  the  play  carefully, 
let  us  observe  how,  for  her,  everything  ends  in  that  achievement. 
Up  to  it,  hers  has  been  the  tiger  nature,  with  every  faculty 
glued,  tense  on  the  purpose,  on  the  prey : her  husband  but  a 
half-hearted  accomplice.  The  end  achieved,  it  would  seem  that 
the  spring  of  action  somehow  breaks  within  her.  It  is  Macbeth 
who,  like  a man,  shoulders  the  weight  of  moral  vengeance.  She 
almost  fades  out.  She  is  always  the  great  lady;  and  while  she 
can,  she  helps.  They  are  both  great : never  one  vulgar  word  of 
reproach  or  recrimination  passes  between  them.  But  they  drift 
apart.  Macbeth  no  longer  relies  on  her.  Uncounselled  by  her, 
he  seeks  the  Witches  again;  solitary  he  pursues  his  way;  and 
her  mental  anguish  is  left  to  be  watched  by  a Doctor  and  a Gen- 
tlewoman. It  is  but  reported  to  her  husband.  When  the  wail  of 
the  waiting-women  announces  her  death,  he  is  busy  arming  him- 
self for  his  doom.  All  he  finds  to  say  on  the  word  ‘ dead  ’ is : 

‘ She  should  have  died  hereafter : 

There  would  have  been  a time  for  such  a word.’  ” 

— Quiller -Couch. 

Is  there  any  reason  why  Lady  Macbeth  should  so  flatter  Ban- 
quo?  In  the  dialogue  between  Banquo  and  Macbeth  take  out  the 
three  short  questions  that  Macbeth  buries  in  his  speeches,  and 
see  how  clever  he  is  in  getting  the  information  that  he  wants. 
Looking  back  over  the  scene  after  the  first  reading,  what  is  the 
dramatic  power  of  all  this  conversation  when  Banquo’s  doom  is 
already  sealed?  Why  does  Macbeth  wish  the  horses  “ swift 
and  sure  of  foot  ”?  Is  there  any  reason  for  Macbeth’s  not  wish- 
ing to  execute  this  murder  himself?  Does  Lady  Macbeth  know 
he  is  planning  it?  What  is  the  sad  summary  of  Macbeth’s  so- 

274 


Act  III,  Scene  1. 


Notes. 


liloquy  beginning  “ To  be  thus  is  nothing  ”?  Is  there  any  reason, 
other  than  half-formed  fear  and  conjecture,  for  the  second  mur- 
der? Is  there,  then,  a reason  for  such  a murder’s  bringing  about 
at  once  the  real  crisis  in  Macbeth’s  career?  How  does  he  speak 
of  Banquo’s  “ wisdom  that  doth  guide  his  valor  to  act  in 
safety  ”?  Has  he  any  regret  for  killing  Duncan?  What  are  the 
most  bitter  lines  in  his  entire  speech?  Why  does  he  summon 
two  murderers,  and  a third  later,  instead  of  committing  the  mur- 
der himself?  Why  has  one  interview  with  these  men  already 
been  held?  And  why  are  they  again  asked  to  “ resolve  ” them- 
selves apart?  Is  there  anything  in  the  pace  of  this  murder  quite 
different  from  that  of  Duncan?  What  is  the  real  point  in  all 
Macbeth’s  involved  talk  with  the  murderers?  It  is  said  that 
Shakespeare  never  introduces  even  a minor  character  without 
making  his  personality  clear.  Just  how  well  do  you  know  these 
two  murderers?  Is  there  a real  dramatic  contrast  between 
them?  Where  does  Macbeth  boast  like  a king,  and  then  crum- 
ble under  his  own  boasting?  When  people  use  the  excuse 
“ for  sundry  weighty  reasons  ” which  they  do  not  give,  what  do 
we  always  think?  Why  is  Macbeth  so  anxious  to  enrage  the 
spirits  of  his  hired  assassins?  Is  not  their  pay  guaranty  enough 
of  their  will  to  succeed?  Do  you  think  he,  not  Banquo,  was  the 
cause  of  their  disasters?  Where  before  in  the  play  has  Macbeth 
shown  his  power  to  play  upon  the  emotions  of  others?  What 
are  his  methods?  Why  does  he  conceal  the  real  reason  for  kill- 
ing Fleance  with  such  a flimsy  excuse?  Does  the  couplet  at 
the  end  of  the  scene  recall  at  once  another  significant  ending  of 
a dramatic  scene?  In  watching  this  scene  upon  the  stage 
what  would  enlist  your  attention  most?  Is  Lady  Macbeth’s 
appearance  disappointing?  It  is  said  that  Booth  had  his  Lady 
Macbeth  leave  her  ladies  and  go  to  the  king  and  touch  him 
when  he  began  to  talk  about  the  “ bloody  cousins  ” and  “ cruel 
parricide  ” — playing  the  same  part,  to  avert  attention  to  a 
dangerous  topic,  as  her  swoon  played  for  her  in  the  second 
act. 


275 


Notes. 


Act  III,  Scene  2. 


ACT  III 
Scene  2 

Notice  in  this  short  scene  how  Macbeth,  in  this  interim  of  in- 
active waiting,  morbidly  broods  with  a tortured  mind ; and  how 
again  Lady  Macbeth,  in  the  quiet  pause,  is  the  stronger  of  the 
two. 

6.  that  which  we  destroy : has  Lady  Macbeth  here  a vision 
of  the  slaughtered  Duncan? 

10.  Using  : in  the  sense  of  becoming  used  to ; nursing  contin- 
ually. 

13.  scotched  the  snake  : bruised  and  cut.  The  old  idea  was 
that  the  halves  of  a snake  cut  in  two  could,  while  the  blood  was 
fresh,  be  cemented,  or  as  Macbeth  says : “ close  and  be  herself  ” 
again. 

16.  frame  of  things  : the  universe. 

16.  both  the  worlds  : heaven  and  earth. 

21.  on  the  torture  : on  the  rack. 

22.  ecstasy : any  kind  of  excessive  emotion,  sorrow  as  well  as 
joy. 

26.  Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy:  where,  in  the  first  act, 
did  Duncan  suffer  from  both? 

27.  sleek  o’er : so  Milton  in  “ Comus,”  “ Sleeking  her  soft 
alluring  locks.” 

32.  Unsafe  the  while,  that  we : we  are  in  the  precarious  con- 
dition of  having  to  flatter  him  whom  we  fear,  while  we  mask 
our  real  hearts. 

38.  nature’s  copy ’s  not  eterne : the  deed  by  which  they  hold 
their  lives  from  Nature  is  not  eternal,  — that  is,  it  can  be  ended. 
Therefore,  they  are  “ assailable,”  not  immortal. 

40.  jocund : can  you  prove  from  your  own  reading  that  this 
was  a common  word  with  Shakespeare  and  Milton? 

41.  cloistered  flight : stealing  about  the  cloisters. 

42.  shard-borne  beetle : borne  on  its  wings,  hard  and  scaly 
as  shards,  bits  of  broken  pottery. 

43.  yawning : same  atmosphere  as  “ drowsy  hums.” 

276 


Act  III,  Scene  2. 


Notes 


46.  seeling  night,  scarf  up  : technical  terms  in  falconry ; the 
falcon’s  eyes  were  seeled,  or  scarfed,  to  keep  her  blinded  until 
she  was  tame. 

49.  that  great  bond  : Banquo’s  life,  referring  back  to  “ na- 
ture’s copy”;  or  it  may  mean  the  bond  of  his  destiny  as  given 
by  the  witches. 

63.  night’s  black  agents : do  you  think  this  means  all  evil  of 
the  night,  or  the  hired  murderers  for  the  “ deed  of  dreadful  note  ” 
of  this  night? 

66.  go  with  me  : in  spirit  accompany  me  in  this  next  under- 
taking. 

DISCUSSION 

* 

Considering  the  scene  as  a study  in  contrasts,  what  is  the  dif- 
ference between  Macbeth’s  and  Lady  Macbeth’s  remorse? 
What  speech  shows  hers  at  its  bitterest?  Which  one  shows  Mac- 
beth’s? Is  there  a difference  too  in  the  thing  which  each  la- 
ments? Do  you  think  the  two  are  drifting  apart  now  in  their 
daily  experience?  How?  How  do  you  account  for  Macbeth’s 
frequent  terms  of  endearment  when  he  speaks  to  her?  Do  you 
find  any  indication  that  she  suspected  Macbeth  of  planning  some 
evil  against  Banquo  after  listening  to  him  in  the  first  scene? 
Some  commentators  believe  that  her  speech  beginning 
“ Nought’s  had,  all’s  spent”  should  belong  to  Macbeth.  Do 
you  find,  however,  in  it  something  much  more  like  her  than  like 
him?  These  are  the  only  lines  in  the  whole  play,  except  those 
spoken  when  she  is  asleep,  when  Lady  Macbeth  gives  voice  to 
her  grief  of  soul.  At  the  end  of  this  speech,  “ Things  without 
all  remedy,”  etc.,  is  she  expressing  her  own  philosophy  or  one 
that  she  manufactures  for  Macbeth?  Is  it  the  only  one  for 
him?  What  are  the  two  simple  fears  which  Macbeth  expresses 
•in  lines  17-19?  What,  as  poetry,  do  you  find  to  admire  in 
that  speech  of  his?  What  lines  make  you  feel  real  pity  for 
mm?  Does  Macbeth  anywhere  come  near  revealing  his  new  in- 
tention to  Lady  Macbeth?  What  reasons  are  there  for  his  want- 
ing to  keep  all  knowledge  of  it  from  her  until  it  is  done?  What 
d|>  you  think  is  the  significance  of  his  phrase,  “Till  thou  applaud 

2 77 


Notes. 


Act  III,  Scene  3. 


the  deed  ” ? Is  anguish  of  remorse  the  real  base  of  all  Mac- 
beth’s feeling,  or  simply  fear?  What  speech  of  his  seems 
to  have  unsafe  for  its  key  word?  Which  would  allow  him 
to  plunge  deeper  into  crime?  When  he  speaks  of  “ terrible 
dreams  that  shake  us  nightly,”  what  might  Lady  Macbeth’s 
stage  action  be  ? Where  does  she  assume  a forced  gayety,  and  en- 
join the  same  upon  him?  Where  before  has  she  said  almost  the 
same  words  to  him?  Does  Macbeth’s  last  speech  remind  you 
of  an  earlier  one?  What  seems  always  to  make  a poet  of  this 
soldier-murderer?  Mrs.  Kemble  has  a fine  note  on  Macbeth’s 
picture  of  oncoming  darkness : “ We  see  the  violet  colored  sky, 
we  feel  the  soft  intermitting  wind  of  evening,  we  hear  the  solemn 
lullaby  of  the  dark  fir-forest,  the  homeward  flight  of  the  bird 
suggests  the  sweetest  images  of  rest  and  peace,  and,  coupled  and 
contrasting  with  the  gradual  falling  of  the  dim  veil  of  twilight 
over  the  placid  face  of  nature,  the  remote  horror  of  4 the  deed  of 
dreadful  note  ’ about  to  desecrate  the  solemn  repose  of  the  ap- 
proaching night,  gives  to  these  harmonious  and  lovely  lines  a 
wonderful  effect  of  mingled  beauty  and  terror.”  Dowden  also 
says  that  the  line,  “ Good  things  of  day  begin  to  droop  and 
drowse,”  is  the  motto  of  the  entire  tragedy  which  opens,  he  points 
out,  with  “ a terrible  sunset  in  folded  clouds  of  blood.”  Is  there 
anything  in  this  scene  to  sustain  the  “ pity  ” and  “ admiration  ” 
due  to  tragic  heroes? 


ACT  III 
Scene  3 

This  scene,  so  short,  does  not  lack  dramatic  power.  The  set- 
ting, dusk  in  the  park ; the  extraordinary  characters ; the  mys- 
tery of  the  identity  of  the  third  murderer ; the  simple  unsuspecting 
speeches  of  Banquo  — the  third,  his  last ; the  flight  of  Fleance 
and  all  its  significance ; the  sudden  beginning  and  ending  — 
all  make  it  terribly  quick  and  powerful. 

1.  But:  what  is  the  implication  in  the  word? 

3.  offices : charges,  duties. 

278 


Act  III,  Scene  3. 


Notes. 


4.  To  the  direction  just:  accurately,  according  to  what  we 
were  told  to  expect. 

5.  The  west  yet  glimmers,  etc. : we  cannot  say  here  that  the 
poetry  of  these  lines  is  inspired  by  Macbeth’s  excitement.  Why 
should  not  the  dramatist  himself  feel  the  poetic  atmosphere  of 
a moment  like  this?  Is  it  symbolic  of  the  fact  that  the  eve  of 
the  day  really  has  come  now  for  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth? 

8.  Hark!  Notice  how  the  tenseness  begins  from  this  moment. 

9.  Give  us  a light  there : if  Banquo  and  Fleance  take  the 
foot  path,  while  their  horses  “ go  about,”  as  is  implied  in  the 
third  murderer’s  next  speech,  he  is  asking  one  of  his  body  serv- 
ants, or  Fleance  himself,  for  a torch.  Note  the  dramatic  effect 
of  having  the  torch  lifted  here  in  the  darkness.  Was  Shake- 
speare afraid  to  bring  a horse  upon  the  stage?  What  would  he 
think  of  the  stage  mechanism  of  the  chariot  race  in  the  drama- 
tized version  of  “ Ben  Hur  ”?  Hobby  horses  were  common  on 
the  stage  of  his  day,  clumsy  affairs  made  of  hoops  and  laths  and 
canvas.  Is  it  not  to  his  credit  that  he  disdained  the  cheap  de- 
vice which  only  mocked  and  insulted  the  imagination  of  his  au- 
dience? 

22.  let ’s  away  : they  had  no  orders  to  pursue  Fleance,  — and 
yet  if  Macbeth  were  the  third  murderer,  would  he  have  allowed 
him  to  escape  so  easily? 

DISCUSSION 

Allan  Park  Paton,  in  1869,  proposed  the  theory  that  Macbeth 
was  the  third  murderer.  What  do  you  think  of  each  of  his 
eight  arguments  as  follows?  First,  that  Macbeth  did  not  appear 
at  the  banquet  until  midnight;  second,  that  he  enters  the  ban- 
quet room  at  almost  the  moment  when  the  murderers  appear; 
third,  that  he  could  not  have  the  heart  to  be  at  the  feast,  or  any- 
where except  upon  the  scene  of  the  murder  to  be  sure  of  its  suc- 
cess; fourth,  that  any  third  murderer,  Macbeth’s  special  confi- 
dant, would  have  been  the  one  to  announce  the  result;  fifth, 
that  the  “ twenty  trenched  gashes  ” sound  not  like  the  telling 
stroke  of  a hireling,  but  the  personal  vindictiveness  of  one  who 
hated  Banquo ; sixth,  that  the  third  murderer  showed  exact  in- 

279 


Notes. 


Act  1X1,  Scene  4. 


timacy  with  the  park,  and  with  the  habitual  way  visitors  ap- 
proached the  palace ; seventh,  that  there  was  at  first  a light- 
hearted satisfaction  in  Macbeth’s  manner  with  the  murderer 
when  he  appears  at  the  door  of  the  banquet  hall ; eighth,  when 
the  ghost  rises  at  the  feast  Macbeth  says,  “ Thou  canst  not  say 
I did  it,”  as  if  the  darkness  had  concealed  him  from  Banquo. 
There  is  a good  answer  to  each  of  these  points.  Can  you  see 
what  they  are?  And,  in  general,  what  would  be  the  effect  upon 
the  audience  — that  audience  which  Shakespeare  always  held 
so  carefully  in  mind  — if  this  point  were  an  intentional  mystery? 
What  do  you  think  of  the  possibility  of  making  Ross  the  third 
murderer?  Why  should  Banquo’s  death  be  acted  before  our 
eyes  when  Duncan’s  was  not?  Does  this  connect  at  all  with 
the  appearance  of  the  ghost  of  Banquo  later? 

Are  there  not  better  reasons  in  the  fact  that  it  is  the  third  mur- 
derer who  recognizes  Banquo  and  is  distressed  at  the  striking 
out  of  the  torch?  Take  out  of  the  lines  the  speeches  of  the  third 
murderer,  — as  you  read  them  what  seems  evident?  Might 
not  Macbeth,  according  to  his  nature,  have  found  it  impossible 
at  the  last  moment  to  trust  so  momentous  a deed  to  mere  hire- 
lings— and  so  have  hurried  to  the  park?  And,  if  so,  why  go 
in  disguise?  From  your  own  reading  of  Shakespeare  do  you 
personally  believe  that  it  is  his  way  to  introduce  mysteries 
and  enigmas,  — or  shall  we  read  the  lines  simply,  as  he  writes 
them? 

ACT  III 
Scene  4 

Macbeth  in  this  scene  holds  the  “ solemn  supper  ” which  he 
has  tried  to  make  secure  in  happiness  by  the  murder  of  Banquo. 
How  quickly  our  minds  have  shifted  from  watching  his  successes 
to  watching  for  the  irony  that  lurks  in  each  seeming  success. 
Banquo  is  killed  — a success ; Fleance  has  escaped  — the  irony 
of  fate  bound  up  in  that  success.  Remember  that  this  scene  is 
acted  entirely  by  the  fitful  light  of  torches ! 


Act  III,  Scene  4. 


Notes. 


1.  degrees : your  ranks  at  a formal  banquet  of  the  realm. 

2.  the  hearty  welcome  : notice  how  at  every  perfunctory  re- 
iteration of  these  sounds  of  welcome  the  spirit  becomes  more 
and  more  hollow. 

3.  will  mingle  with  society  : is  there  a practical  reason  for  his 
refusing  to  be  seated  at  first? 

5.  keeps  her  state : sits  upon  the  canopied  dais,  the  throne 
of  state.  Does  this  make  it  more  difficult  for  Lady  Macbeth 
later  to  come  to  the  side  of  her  lord? 

8.  my  heart  speaks : the  “ o’ercharged  heart,”  but  valiant 
one,  that  has  all  our  pity  even  as  early  as  this.  Why  can  she 
not  trust  her  own  voice  further?  Can  she  fail  in  little  things, 
and  still  summon  her  strength  for  the  greater? 

9.  encounter : meet,  — with  bows  and  curtsies. 

10.  Both  sides:  both  sides  of  the  table  are  filled;  Macbeth 
will  sit  at  the  head  then? 

11.  anon : his  excuse  for  going  to  the  door,  where  possibly  he 
has  just  seen  the  murderer. 

12.  There  ’s  blood  upon  thy  face : said  with  satisfaction,  or 
with  fear  lest  it  be  seen  by  others? 

14.  ’T  is  better  thee  without,  etc. : is  there  any  real  diffi- 
culty in  understanding  this? 

19.  the  nonpareil : the  peerless  one. 

23.  casing : incasing,  enveloping. 

24.  cribbed:  still  more  constricted  than  “ cabined.” 

25.  saucy  : impertinent,  not  suitable. 

27.  twenty  trenched  gashes : what  incident  in  “ Julius  Cae- 
sar ” does  this  closely  parallel? 

29.  worm : here,  the  young  of  the  serpent. 

32.  hear  ourselves  : talk  together. 

33.  the  feast  is  sold,  etc. : her  meaning  is  that  one  might  as 
well  buy  a feast  at  a public  inn  as  to  eat  at  a friend’s  home  with- 
out that  friend’s  hearty  welcome  ; merely  to  eat  were  best  at  home, 
— away  from  home  the  “ sauce  to  meat  ” is  expressed  courtesy 
and  hospitality.  A wonderful  speech  under  the  circumstances.  * 

41.  Were  the  graced  person : why  is  this  the  moment  for  the 
ghost  to  enter? 


Notes. 


Act  III,  Scene  4 


43.  pity  for  mischance  : how  far  is  Macbeth  “ over-winding  ” 
here? 

46.  The  table  ’ s full : just  his  cursory  glance,  and  unthinking 
reply.  Was  there  no  place  then  reserved  for  Banquo? 

46.  a place  reserved,  sir:  to  whose  place  does  Lennox  point? 

49.  Which  of  you  have  done  this?  What  Macbeth  sees  is 
clear  enough  — but  the  fine  dramatic  point  is  the  gradual  rec- 
ognition that  the  figure  in  the  chair  is  Banquo’s.  Do  any  of  the 
others  around  the  table  see  it?  “ It  is  a piece  of  consummate 
art,”  says  Knight,  “ that  Macbeth  should  see  his  own  chair  oc- 
cupied by  the  vision  of  him  whose  presence  he  has  just  affected 
to  desire.” 

50.  canst  not  say : can  it  be  that  Macbeth  is  childish  enough 
to  take  some  comfort  in  the  thought  of  the  way  in  which  he 
planned  the  murder? 

52.  Gentlemen,  rise  : whether  this  is  a sincere  speech  from 
Ross  or  a veiled  desire  to  draw  Macbeth  out,  the  real  point  is 
that  to  break  up  the  feast  now  would  send  away  a suspicious 
gathering  of  lords.  See  how  Lady  Macbeth  immediately  senses 
this  and  comes  to  the  rescue.  Too  heart-weary  to  join  in  the 
merriment  of  feasting,  yet  she  must  be  drawn,  weary  yet  alert, 
into  its  horrors. 

57.  extend  his  passion : prolong  his  perturbation. 

58.  Are  you  a man?  I can  feel  no  taunt,  no  bitterness  here; 
only  in  a tense,  concentrated  undertone  an  anguished  attempt 
to  call  him  to  his  senses. 

59.  Ay,  and  a bold  one : his  answer,  too,  is  tense,  — but 
tense  with  fear  and  horror. 

60.  proper  stuff : “ proper  ” is  a term  of  contempt,  — oh, 
stuff  and  nonsense  ! 

63.  flaws  : sudden  commotions. 

64.  Imposters  : when  compared  with  real  fear. 

66.  Authorized  by  : why  not  take  this  literally  — a woman’s 
story,  the  author  of  which  was  her  superstitious  old  grandmother? 

69.  how  say  you?  Addressed  to  the  ghost. 

70.  speak  too : does  this  not  remind  you  of  the  old  arrogant 
Macbeth  who  commanded  the  witches  to  speak,  in  the  first  act? 

282 


Act  III,  Scene  4. 


Notes. 


71.  If  charnel-houses,  etc. : do  you  see  a reason  here  for  believ- 
ing that  the  first  ghost  may  have  been  Duncan’s,  the  buried 
Duncan;  and  the  second  one,  Banquo’s? 

73.  maws  of  kites : let  the  kites  so  devour  the  bodies  of  the 
dead  that  fragments  can  never  be  reassembled  to  come  back  as 
ghosts. 

Ghost  vanishes  : why,  at  this  point  ? 

76.  gentle  weal : do  you  think  “ general  weal  ” is  better? 

83.  Than  such  a murder  is : has  Macbeth  any  sense  of  the 
unnaturalness  of  the  deed  he  has  done? 

84.  do  lack  you  : miss  you,  their  host. 

86.  muse  at : wonder  at. 

86.  a strange  infirmity  : he  must  mean  nothing  less  than  that 
of  hallucinations. 

90.  to  our  dear  friend  Banquo : what  is  Macbeth  again  sure 
to  bring  upon  himself  by  this  “ over-winding  ”? 

92.  all  to  all : one  general  toast  so  that  he  may  be  spared  the 
strain  of  drinking  severally  to  his  lords. 

96.  speculation  : natural  sight. 

97.  a thing  of  custom  : his  natural  infirmity. 

99.  What  man  dare  : still  to  the  ghost. 

101.  armed : armored  with  his  thick  skin  and  tusks. 

101.  Hyrcan  tiger : Hyrcania,  the  region  south  of  the  Caspian 
Sea. 

106.  inhabit  then  : continue  then. 

106.  baby  of  a girl : a mere  puppet,  or  doll ; or  possibly  the 
tiny  body  of  a young  girl-mother. 

Ghost  vanishes : what  in  Macbeth’s  speech  makes  it  van- 
ish? 

108.  sit  still:  what  movement  had  arisen  among  the  lords? 

110.  admired  : to  be  wondered  at. 

111.  overcome : come  over. 

112.  make  me  strange  : you  make  me  a stranger  to  my  own 
disposition. 

116.  What  sights,  my  lord : does  Ross  sound  here  curious, 
or  like  a friend  who  would  give  Macbeth  a chance  to  explain 
his  actions  ? 


Notes. 


Act  III,  Scene  4. 


117.  speak  not : why  must  still  stronger  interference  from 
Lady  Macbeth  come  here? 

122.  It  will  have  blood : murder  will  have  its  revenge. 

123.  Stones  have  been  known,  etc. : old  tales  of  stones  moving 
away  from  a grave  and  revealing  a murdered  corpse ; of  trees 
telling  of  murder,  as  in  Vergil’s  tale  of  the  murdered  Polydorus. 
Auguries  and  their  understanding  of  the  relations  between 
causes  and  effects  have  revealed  even  the  most  secret  murderer 
through  the  voice  of  magpies,  and  choughs,  or  jackdaws,  and  rooks. 

127.  at  odds  with  morning : what  other  scene  in  the  play  has 
been  enacted  at  this  same  time? 

128.  How  say’st  thou,  that,  etc. : since  she  did  not  tell  him  so, 
Macbeth  must  mean,  “ What  dost  thou  say  to  the  news  that 
Macduff  refuses  to  come  to  our  feast?” 

129.  Did  you  send  to  him,  sir?  Can  you  make  out  any  reason 
why  she  uses  “ sir  ” in  speaking  here  to  her  husband? 

132.  I keep  a servant  feed : so  said  Holinshed  — “ in  every 
nobleman’s  house  one  slie  fellow  or  other.” 

132.  I will  to-morrow  : such  a desperate  determination  of  will 
is  likely  now  to  bring  what  upon  Macbeth?  Have  the  witches 
ever  originated  anything  that  was  not  already  in  Macbeth’s 
mind? 

140.  ere  they  may  be  scanned : they  must  not  be  examined 
too  carefully  if  I am  to  have  the  courage  to  carry  them  through. 

141.  season  of  all  natures  : the  seasoning  — that  which  gives 
relish  and  taste  to  life. 

143.  initiate  fear : the  fear  felt  by  the  uninitiated  in  crime. 


DISCUSSION 

The  swift  action  of  the  tragedy  is  most  apparent  in  this  scene. 
The  crime ; the  immediate  punishment ; the  passing  to  a new 
crime,  forecast  in  the  questionings  about  Macduff ; the  resort- 
ing to  the  witches,  — all  in  one  scene.  Booth’s  acting  of  the 
scene  was  perfect,  and  yet  he  omitted  the  ghost ! He  arranged 
that  the  first  murderer  should  enter  inconspicuously  among 
the  servants  carrying  dishes,  and  carry  a goblet  of  wine  to  Mac- 

284 


Act  III,  Scene  4. 


Notes 


beth.  Thereupon  followed  the  quick  whispered  dialogue  — but 
at  the  door,  whither  Macbeth  had  followed  his  undertone  direc- 
tion as  he  passed  him  the  wine.  Later  whenever  Macbeth  tries 
to  drink  the  wine,  it  sickens  him.  He  made  tenderness  the  tone 
between  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth  after  the  guests  had  gone, 
— each  trying  to  comfort  the  other;  at  his  words  of  brooding, 
“ The  secret’st  man  of  blood,”  he  had  her  gently  place  her  hand 
upon  his  shoulder  to  call  him  back  — to  the  question  “ What 
is  the  night?  ” “ Come,  we’ll  to  sleep,  ” he  spoke  as  one  voic- 

ing a forlorn  hope;  and  at  the  very  end  of  the  scene,  “ We  are 
yet  but  young  in  deed,”  he  lifted  his  hand  in  weariness  to  his 
brow,  and  touched  there  the  crown.  As  if  it  stung  him,  he  re- 
moved it,  held  it  in  his  hand,  gazed  at  it,  as  if  to  seek  an  answer 
to  the  question  why  had  he  ever  cared  so  much  for  it.  Lady 
Macbeth  sinks  to  her  knees,  her  eyes  averted  from  him,  lonely 
in  the  anguish  of  her  soul.  Why  is  Macbeth  so  poetic  in  his 
speech  beginning  “Then  comes  my  fit  again”?  Since  Lady 
Macbeth  felt  keenly  enough  Macbeth’s  suspicious  preoccupa- 
tion, why  could  she  not  fill  in  the  space  with  lively  conversation 
with  their  guests?  Is  her  part  more  or  less  difficult  because  she 
does  not  exactly  know  what  has  been  going  on?  Did  you  real- 
ize what  a gruesome  setting  is  that  of  the  familiar  quotations 
“ Now,  good  digestion  wait  on  appetite  ” and  “ Stand  not 
upon  the  order  of  your  going”?  How  do  you  feel  throughout 
this  scene  about  making  the  third  murderer  to  be  Macbeth? 
Do  you  think  it  possible  to  act  Lady  Macbeth  as  seeing  the  ghost 
of  Banquo  also?  It  is  said  that  Mrs.  Siddons  so  acted  it. 
What  might  have  been  her  purpose?  Why  is  the  ghost  always 
brought  upon  the  stage  — when  the  “ air-drawn  dagger  ” is 
not?  May  not  the  “ terrible  dreams,”  the  “ sorriest  fancies,” 
the  “ torture  of  the  mind,”  the  “ restless  ecstasy  ” not  be  enough 
to  justify  Lady  Macbeth  in  saying,  “ My  lord  is  not  well  ” ? 
Does  she  fear  actual  insanity  for  him  — and  does  her  fear  give 
that  alternation  of  tenderness  and  sternness  to  arouse  him  from 
sinking  into  a kind  of  madness?  What  actual  things  does  Mac- 
beth plan  to  do,  as  his  way  of  escaping  from  the  madness?  Is 
there  anything  in  the  alternate  vanishing  and  coming  of  the  ghost 

285 


Notes. 


Act  III,  Scene  5. 


that  reminds  you  of  the  fading  and  appearing  of  the  dagger?  Is 
Macbeth  most  vulnerable  in  the  superstitious  side  of  his  nature? 
What  is  babyish  in  his  complaint  that  ghosts  should  appear  at 
all?  that  other  murderers  have  committed  their  crimes  with- 
out their  victims’  appearing  to  them?  What  is  the  mood  in 
which  he  calls  for  wine,  “ Fill  full  ” ? What  would  the  scene  lack 
without  Lady  Macbeth’s  presence?  Where  during  the  scene 
does  Macbeth  really  show  that  he  is  not  constitutionally  a cow- 
ard? Do  you  think  the  speech  beginning  “ What  man  dare  ” 
keeps  up  its  boldness  to  the  very  end?  When  Lady  Macbeth 
takes  control  of  the  scene  see  how  Macbeth  fades  away,  and  only 
she  and  the  ghost  are  real  to  us.  After  the  guests  go,  Irving 
acted  the  part  by  throwing  himself  down  on  a seat  at  the  table, 
head  on  arms,  while  Ellen  Terry,  as  Lady  Macbeth,  dropped 
limply  on  to  the  throne  at  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Do  you 
like  this  separation  of  the  two  characters,  — or  would  you  keep 
her  closer  to  him  for  comforting  him  as  one  consoles  a child? 
What  do  you  think  of  Macbeth’s  philosophy,  “ Returning  were  as 
tedious  as  go  o’er  ”?  What  will  be  the  effect  of  this  night’s  ex- 
periences upon  Macbeth’s  guests?  What  is  fine  about  the  quick 
ending  of  the  scene? 


ACT  III 
Scene  5 

See  the  section  on  material  not  by  Shakespeare  in  “ Mac- 
beth,” pp.  92-93,  for  the  discussion  as  to  the  authorship  of  this 
scene. 

1.  Hecate : this  introduction  of  a pagan  deity  among  the 
witches,  a modern  superstition,  has  excited  many  comments. 
The  most  remarkable,  that  of  Warton,  who  says : “ The  Gothic 
and  Pagan  fictions  were  frequently  blended  and  incorporated. 
The  Lady  of  the  Lake  floated  in  the  suite  of  Neptune  before 
Queen  Elizabeth  at  Kenilworth;  Ariel  assumes  the  semblance 
of  a sea-nymph;  and  Hecate,  by  an  easy  association,  conducts 
the  rites  of  the  weird  sisters  in  Macbeth .”  We  recall  also  Hymen 
in  “ As  You  Like  It.” 


286 


Act  III,  Scene  5. 


Notes. 


7.  close  contriver:  secretive  planner  of  all  those  “harms” 
that  the  witches  apparently  questioned. 

13.  Loves : do  you  think  the  suggestion  a good  one  that  lives 
is  the  word  Shakespeare  wrote? 

15.  Acheron : while  we  know  this  as  the  name  of  one  of  the 
four  great  rivers  of  Hades  in  Greek  and  Roman  mythology, 
Shakespeare  probably  means  by  using  it  to  call  up  some  dark 
cave  or  pit,  deep  enough  to  seem  to  reach  down  to  the  infernal 
regions.  Perhaps  it  is  on  the  heath  where  they  meet  Macbeth 
the  first  time. 

24.  drop  profound : that  is,  deep,  full,  ready  to  drop,  and  full 
of  hidden  possibilities.  There  was  an  ancient  belief,  says  Stee- 
vens,  that  the  moon,  if  sufficiently  solicited,  would  shed  foam  on 
particular  herbs,  full  of  enchantment. 

26.  sleights  : one  “ sleight-of-hand.” 

32.  security:  the  sense  of  inviolable  security ; over-confidence. 

a song  within : the  song  is  taken  from  the  play  “ The  Witch  ” 
by  Thomas  Middleton.  It  runs  as  follows : 


Hecate: 


Come  away,  come  away, 

Hecate,  Hecate,  come  away ! 

I come,  I come,  I come,  I come, 
With  all  the  speed  I may, 

With  all  the  speed  I may, 

Where ’s  Stadlin? 


Voice  above: 
Hecate: 
Voice  above: 


Here  ! 

Where  ’s  Puckle? 


Here! 

And  Hoppo  too,  and  Hellwain  too ; 

We  lack  but  you,  we  lack  but  you ; 
Come  away,  make  up  the  count. 

I will  but  ’noint,  and  then  I ’ll  mount. 


Hecate: 


( A spirit  like  a cat  descends.  ) 


Voice  above: 


There  ’s  one  comes  down  to  fetch  his  dues  : 
A kiss,  a call,  a sip  of  blood ; 

And  why  thou  stay’st  so  long 
I muse,  I muse, 

Since  the  air ’s  so  sweet  and  good. 


287 


Notes. 

Act  III,  Scene  5. 

Hecate : 

0 art  thou  come? 

What  news,  what  news? 

Spirit : 

All  goes  still  to  our  delight. 
Either  come,  or  else 
Refuse,  refuse. 

Hecate: 

Now  I ’m  furnish’d  for  the  flight. 

Firestone : 

Hark,  hark,  the  cat  sings  a brave  treble 
in  her  own  language. 

Hecate  ( going  up) : 

Now  I go,  now  I fly, 

Malkin,  my  sweet  spirit  and  I. 

O,  what  a dainty  pleasure  ’t  is 

To  ride  in  the  air 

When  the  moon  shines  fair. 

And  sing  and  dance,  and  toy  and  kiss ! 
Over  woods,  high  rocks  and  mountains, 
Over  steep  towers  and  turrets, 

We  fly  by  night  ’mongst  troops  of  spirits ; 
No  ring  of  bells  to  our  ear  sounds, 

No  howls  of  wolves,  no  yelps  of  hounds ; 
No,  not  the  noise  of  water’s  breach, 

Or  cannon’s  throat  our  height  can  reach. 

This  song  was  inserted  by  Davenant  in  his  acting  version  of 
“ Macbeth,”  a great  revival  of  interest  in  the  play,  published  in 
1674.  In  the  Folio,  “Music  and  a Song”  is  the  direction  at  the 
34th  line  of  Hecate’s  speech ; and 

34.  song  within,  “ Come  away,  come  "away,”  etc.,  comes  after 
line  36. 

35.  I am  called  : Hecate  has  evidently  been  taking  no  part  in 
the  song. 

DISCUSSION 

Rolfe  speaks  of  this  scene  as  “ this  poor  stuff  thrust  into  the  play 
by  some  hack  writer  at  the  suggestion  of  some  theatrical  man- 
ager.” Can  you  express  why  the  lines  seem  inferior  to  Shake- 
speare’s? Are  there  touches,  too,  especially  in  the  diction,  that 
seem  unlike  Shakespeare?  Does  the  scene  seem  necessary?  Does 
it,  if  not  needed,  add  anything  we  would  not  wish  to  lose  from 

288 


Act  III,  Scene  6. 


Notes. 


the  play?  Is  it  put  in,  perhaps,  to  fulfill  Macbeth’s  announce- 
ment in  the  last  scene  that  he  will  betimes  to  the  witches?  What 
might  the  anger  of  Hecate  contribute  to  our  understanding  of 
Macbeth’s  relations  to  the  supernatural?  Is  he  already  marked 
for  her  chastisement?  Then  does  the  scene  increase  our  inter- 
est in  what  is  to  come? 

ACT  III 
Scene  6 

Before  the  crisis  act  of  the  play  ends,  some  scene  must  be  pro- 
vided to  carry  our  interest  well  along  toward  the  falling  action. 
Notice  how  the  conversation  of  the  two  lords  and  their  report 
of  Macduff’s  disaffection  does  this  perfectly.  The  scene  is  usu- 
ally omitted  on  the  stage;  and  it  has  no  action;  but  from  the 
philosophic  point  of  view  it  cannot  be  omitted. 

Forres.  The  palace  : if  there,  how  boldly  now  are  Macbeth’s 
subjects  discussing  him? 

another  Lord : any  reason  at  all  for  not  giving  his  name,  ex- 
cept that  he  is  to  stand  for  all  lords  in  Macbeth’s  kingdom? 

2.  interpret  further : go  and  make  clear  those  things  as  well. 

3.  borne : managed,  conducted. 

6.  you  may  say,  if  ’t  please  you : in  what  tone  is  this  whole 
speech  said? 

10.  fact : Shakespeare  uses  this  in  the  sense  of  an  evil  deed. 

12.  pious : in  the  sense  of  having  respect  and  reverence  to 
his  sovereign  Duncan. 

12.  tear : is  it  intentional  that  we  shall  see  Macbeth  here  as 
a raging  beast? 

20.  so  should  Fleance : does  this  mean  that  suspicion  of  kill- 
ing his  father  has  fallen  upon  Fleance? 

21.  broad  words : bold  accusing  speech  has  the  honest  Mac- 
duff evidently  used. 

22.  at  the  tyrant’s  feast : how  swift  and  sure  is  the  connection 
with  Scene  4. 

25.  holds  the  due  of  birth  : withholds  his  due  by  birth. 

289 


Notes. 


Act  III,  Scene  b. 


27.  pious  Edward : Edward,  surnamed  “ the  Confessor.”  He 
was  king  of  the  West  Saxons.  Born  at  Islip,  Oxfordshire,  about  1004, 
he  died  January  5,  1066. 

29.  his  high  respect : the  respect  paid  to  him,  not  by  him. 

32.  with  Him  above  To  ratify  the  work : does  the  solemnity 
of  this  remind  you  of  any  speech  of  Banquo’s  in  Act  II,  Scene  3 ? 

36.  free  honors : honors  which  are  the  due  of  self-respecting 
free  subjects  or  possibly  honors  that  are  not  bribes. 

40.  an  absolute  : an  unqualified  bluntness. 

41.  cloudy  messenger:  was  his  face  purposely  concealed; 

or  was  it  clouded  with  fear  of  consequences;  or  “ clouded  ” in 
that  it  reflected  the  misery  of  his  soul  in  bearing  such  messages ; 
or  simply  “ ominous”? 

43.  clogs  me : he  hates  to  bear  this  answer  to  Macbeth,  so 
goes  back  with  heavy  feet. 

DISCUSSION 

What  is  your  great  interest  all  through  this  scene?  At  what 
point  is  it  intensified?  Do  you  feel  that  this  scene  is  placed 
here  too  early  in  the  play,  and  would  be  better  after  the  first 
scene  of  the  fourth  act?  Do  you  believe  Shakespeare  could 
have  written  it  in  that  order,  and  then  changed  it  to  this  posi- 
tion in  his  acting  version  so  that  the  two  witch  scenes  need  not 
come  together?  Where  do  we  get  a union  here  of  inside  and  out- 
side information?  Is  the  purpose  to  show  what  is  now  the  gen- 
eral opinion  of  Macbeth  in  his  own  kingdom,  as  well  as  in  the 
distant  kingdom  of  Edward?  Had  we  almost  forgotten  there 
were  kingdoms  ruled  with  equity?  Is  the  same  kind  of  rebel- 
lion being  plotted  against  Macbeth  as  he  helped  to  quell  when 
Duncan  was  king?  In  what  way  is  this  pure  poetic  justice? 
Where  did  Macduff  first  impress  us  as  a man  of  stubborn  integ- 
rity? Does  he  seem  here  to  you  strong  enough  to  be  the  human 
agent  of  fate  in  Macbeth’s  downfall?  Retribution  from  the  su- 
pernatural agencies,  and  retribution  from  human  agencies  are 
put  steadily  in  motion  before  Scenes  5 and  6 end.  Can  there  be 
material  enough  here  for  two  more  acts? 

29O 


Act  IV,  Scene  1. 


Notes. 


ACT  IV 

Scene  1 

It  is  the  use  of  the  supernatural  in  this  scene  that  really  lifts 
Macbeth  out  of  the  role  of  mere  murderer  into  the  r61e  of  tragic 
hero,  foi;  this  reason : all  his  black  crime  he  commits  under  a 
fatal  hallucination.  It  is  not  madness,  he  is  not  lunatic ; but 
a certain  illusion,  a terrible  mistake,  seizes  upon  his  mind  and 
leads  him  on  to  a sure  doom.  From  the  moment  when  like 
Milton’s  Satan  he  says,  “ Evil,  be  thou  my  good,”  he  never 
shakes  off  the  delusion ; the  stronger  his  will  is,  the  more 
terrible  will  be  his  deeds ; the  stronger  his  imagination,  the 
more  crimes  it  can  conceive. 

Macready  suggested  the  following  arrangement  of  this  scene : 
Let  the  Witches  be  placed  in  different  parts  of  the  cavern.  Sup- 
pose one  at  the  mouth,  intently  on  the  watch;  another  near  the 
cauldron,  covering  over  the  livid  flame,  which,  by  the  way, 
should  be  placed  under  the  charmed  pot  and  not  in  it;  the 
Third  Witch  on  the  side  opposite  the  entrance,  seated  perhaps 
on  a fragment  of  stone,  her  arms  folded,  and  rocking  to  and  fro 
upon  the  rock,  as  it  were,  in  impatience.  Let  not  a word  be 
spoken,  till  the  audience  have  had  time  to  study  the  picture. 
’T  is  to  the  point,  and  they  are  sure  to  feel  it,  if  you  will  allow 
them.  The  familiars  — the  brinded  cat,  the  hedge  pig,  and 
Harpier  — are  supposed  to  be  stationed  outside  the  cavern  to 
give  notice  of  the  approach  of  Hecate.  The  First  Witch  hears 
her  familiar  : “ Thrice  the  brinded  cat  hath  mewed.”  The  eyes 
of  the  other  Witches  are  instantly  turned  towards  her;  a pause 
ensues  during  which  they  all  remain  motionless.  The  Witch 
near  the  cauldron  hears  her  familiar ; she  starts  from  her  cower- 
ing attitude  : “ Thrice,  and  once  the  hedge-pig  whined.”  An- 
other pause  here.  Now  at  length  the  Third  Witch  springs  upon 
her  feet : “ Harpier  cries  ” ; and  then  addressing  her  sisters,  and 
not  putting  words  into  Harpier’s  mouth,  which  Shakespeare 
never  intended  for  him  : “ ’T  is  time,  ’t  is  time.” 

29I 


Notes. 


Act  IV,  Scene  1. 


1.  brinded:  brindled,  spotted,  tawny. 

2.  thrice  and  once  : what  would  be  the  meaning  if  there  were 
a comma  after  thrice?  All  odd  numbers  are  the  numbers  of  en- 
chantment, therefore,  if  the  passage  means  four,  the  witch  would 
say  thrice  and  once. 

2.  hedge-pig : the  hedge-hog  or  urchin  was  an  animal  of  de- 
monology, supposed  to  poison  cows  and  wither  plants ; urchin 
also  later  meant  a mischievous  little  fairy,  and  hence  still  later, 
a child. 

3.  Harpier : what  is  your  association  with  the  word  harpy  ? 
Shakespeare  may  have  meant  something  like  the  classic  name. 

4.  Round  about  the  cauldron  go  : where  before  have  we  had 
the  same  dance  to  wind  up  the  charm? 

8.  Sweltered  venom  : poison  sweated  out. 

10.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble  : what  sound  is  suggested  by 
the  words? 

12.  fenny  : dwelling  in  the  fens. 

14.  newt : lizard. 

16.  blind-worm : the  poisonous  slowworm.  Cf.  the  fairies’ 
song  in  “Midsummer  Night’s  Dream,”  II,  2,  line  ii  : “Newts 
and  blind-worms  do  no  harm.” 

23.  Witches’  mummy:  it  is  true,  but  horrible,  that  from 
Egyptian  mummies  chemists  distilled  a gummy  fluid,  which, 
in  Shakespeare’s  day,  was  used  as  a medicine. 

23.  gulf : gullet. 

24.  ravined : ravin  is  to  devour  greedily  — so  here  over-fed 
with  its  prey. 

25.  hemlock : what  is  your  classic  tragic  association  with  the 
word? 

27.  yew  : poisonous  to  birds  as  well  as  to  human  beings. 

28.  moon’s  eclipse : a time  of  bad  omen.  Milton  says  in 
“ Lycidas”  : 

“ It  was  that  fatal  and  perfidious  bark ; 

Built  in  the  eclipse.” 

31.  drab  : a harlot,  hiding  her  child. 

32.  slab  : slimy,  gluey. 

33.  chaudron : entrails. 


292 


Act  IV,  Scene  1. 


Notes. 


37.  baboon’s:  where  would  the  accent  fall  here? 

Music  and  a song : with  the  first  two  words  of  the  song  given 
it  is  not  hard  to  identify  it  as  Middleton’s,  inserted  as  his  other 
passages  were  in  Davenant’s  acting  version : 

Black  spirits  and  white,  red  spirits  and  gray, 

Mingle,  mingle,  mingle,  you  that  mingle  may! 

Titty,  Tiffin, 

Keep  it  stiff  in; 

Fire  drake,  Puckey, 

Make  it  lucky ; 

Liard,  Robin, 

You  must  bob  in, 

Round,  around,  around,  about,  about ! 

All  ill  come  running  in,  all  good  keep  out. 

44.  By  the  pricking : an  old  superstition  that  still  holds. 

48.  black,  and  midnight  hags  : doing  the  work  of  darkness 
only;  white  witches  were  supposed  to  heal  human  diseases, 
while  the  gray  practiced  either  good  or  bad  arts. 

53.  yesty  : same  as  yeasty,  foamy. 

54.  navigation  : ships  of  every  kind. 

55.  bladed  corn : young,  tender,  in  the  blade,  too  light  gen- 
erally to  be  laid  down  by  tempests,  and  a disaster  to  the  farmers 
if  this  happened  to  it  before  it  was  ripe  for  harvest. 

59.  germens  : all  the  seeds  of  earth,  in  a large  figurative  sense. 

65.  farrow : a scarce  word,  meaning  litter. 

65.  grease  that ’s  sweaten,  elc. : the  most  awful  climax  possi- 
ble to  the  list  of  awful  things  that  made  the  ingredients  of  the 
cauldron. 

68.  deftly:  skillfully. 

an  armed  Head : this  is  symbolic  of  Macbeth’s  head  cut  off 
by  Macduff  and  fixed  upon  a pole. 

69.  knows  thy  thought : an  added  horror  in  this. 

70.  say  thou  nought : keep  the  silence  due  to  the  incantation. 

72.  Enough : where  before  were  the  witches  impatient  of 

questioning? 

74.  harped  my  fear  aright : struck  the  very  note  of  my  fear. 

293 


Notes. 


Act  IV,  Scene  1. 


a bloody  Child  : this  is  symbolic  of  Macduff  “ untimely  ripped 
from  his  mother’s  womb.” 

78.  Had  I three  ears,  etc. : they  should  all  be  intent  to  hear 
thee. 

84.  take  a bond  of  fate  : by  slaying  Macduff  he  will,  appar- 
ently, get  perfect  surety  to  add  to  this  promise  of  the  witches. 

a Child  crowned : the  boy  Malcolm ; and  the  tree  symbolizes 
the  wood  of  Birnam  which  he  later  orders  his  army  to  hew  down. 

88.  round  And  top  : the  crown. 

93.  Dunsinane  : where  lies  the  accent? 

95.  impress : command,  as  to  impress  seamen,  or  provi- 
sions, etc. 

99.  live  the  lease  of  nature : live  out  his  natural  term  of  life. 

106.  what  noise  is  this : may  be  music,  — or  discordant 

sounds.  Which  do  you  think  fits  the  setting  the  better? 

112.  the  spirit  of  Banquo  : that  is,  that  terrible  spirit  I have 
just  seen  at  the  banquet. 

113.  sear  mine  eye-balls  : scald  my  eyes. 

121.  two-fold  balls  and  treble  sceptres : a compliment  to 
King  James : the  “ two-fold  balls  ” may  mean  the  two  islands 
making  up  the  kingdom,  or  may  refer  to  the  double  coronation 
of  James  at  Scone  and  at  Westminster.  “ Treble  sceptres  ” 
may  mean  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland  or  the  three  titles  of 
James,  “ King  of  Great  Britain,  France,  and  Ireland.” 

126.  amazedly : stunned. 

127.  sprights : spirits. 

130.  antic  round:  or  did  Shakespeare  write  “ antique  round”? 

144.  anticipat’st : preventest,  in  its  literal  meaning  of  coming 

before . 

145.  flighty : speedy,  too  speedy  for  the  execution  to  overtake  it. 

147.  firstlings  : first  born  thoughts. 

155.  sights : apparitions  from  the  witches. 

DISCUSSION 

The  real  turning  point  of  the  play  begins  here  — with  the  sec- 
ond appearance  of  the  witches  — retribution  is  the  key  word 
from  now  to  the  end.  What  a challenge  to  a poet’s  imagina- 

294 


Act  IV,  Scene  1. 


Notes. 


tion  is  the  mere  enumeration  of  the  ingredients  of  the  caldron ! 
Which  ones  seem  most  loathsome  to  you?  What  is  the  effect 
of  the  onomatopoetic  refrain?  Does  Hecate  add  anything  to 
this  scene?  Does  Scene  5,  Act  III,  require  that  she  should  ap- 
pear here?  Comment  upon  the  second  witch’s  couplet  just 
before  Macbeth  enters.  In  what  mood  is  Macbeth  all  through 
this  visit  to  the  witches?  What  does  each  impassioned  speech 
of  his  seem  to  bring  forth?  Which  speech  of  his  is  most  des- 
perate? Why  is  he  poet  again  in  his  picture  of  the  destruction 
of  all  nature?  What  figure  makes  the  fine  climax  to  that  speech? 
Where  is  Macbeth  most  imperious?  How  does  this  compare 
with  his  attitude  in  preceding  scenes?  Why  must  these  appari- 
tions be  visible  to  the  audience?  Describe  the  voice  suited  to 
each  as  it  speaks.  Where  during  their  speeches  does  Macbeth 
again  exemplify  that  “ Security  is  mortal’s  chiefest  enemy”? 
What  is  artistic  about  the  mounting  security  of  the  prophecies? 
Notice  that  the  prophecies  throughout  the  play  come  in  threes, 
arranged  in  order  of  climax.  In  what  question  does  Macbeth 
reveal  the  real  fear  that  gnaws  at  his  heart?  What  is  the  evi- 
dent result  of  his  anger  when  the  apparitions  do  not  answer  this 
question?  What  is  finely  dramatic  in  the  procession  of  kings? 
Why  did  Shakespeare  avoid  stating  the  exact  number  of  them? 
Are  the  witches  merely  spiteful  when  they  say  they  will  cheer 
up  his  spirits?  Is  their  phrase,  “ this  great  king,”  ironical? 
Why  is  he  so  anxious  to  know  if  Lennox  saw  the  weird  sisters? 
Are  not  the  steady  answers  of  Lennox  like  a refreshing  dash  of 
cold  water  after  the  fevered  speeches  of  Macbeth?  What  is  the 
dramatic  value  of  “ Macduff  is  fled  to  England  ” ? Coleridge  called 
these  words  “ the  acme  of  the  avenging  conscience.”  When  Mac- 
beth answers  that  he  will  surprise  the  castle  of  Macduff  we  can- 
not help  marveling  at  the  rapidity  with  which  his  moral  nature 
disintegrated.  Where  is  the  awful  hesitancy  he  felt  over  kill- 
ing his  first  victim  in  the  great  soliloquy  of  Act  I,  Scene  7,  and  his 
conversation  with  Lady  Macbeth  in  that  scene?  Is  there  really 
any  necessity  for  these  new  murders,  directly  after  the  solid  as- 
surances of  the  witches? 


295 


Notes. 


Act  IV,  Scene  2- 


ACT  IV 

Scene  2 

At  first  thought  this  scene  may  seem  to  break  the  artistic  unity 
of  atmosphere  that  has  settled  down  upon  the  tragedy.  But 
just  as  a dramatic  contrast,  especially  at  its  beginning,  it  has  no 
equal  in  any  of  the  plays.  The  light  grace  of  the  prattle  of  the 
boy  with  his  mother  and  her  woman’s  anxiety  over  the  unex- 
plained absence  of  her  lord  give  us  a touch  of  affectionate  home- 
life  which  is  nowhere  else  in  the  play,  and  which  throws  our 
minds  back  instantly  to  the  thought  of  the  destruction  of  such 
life  in  the  home  of  Macbeth  since  “ thriftless  Ambition  ” entered 
there.  Many  critics  think  the  scene  entirely  unnecessary,  and 
a revolting  “ massacre  of  the  innocents  ” when  we  have  already 
had  enough  of  murder.  But  see  what  point  it  adds  later  when 
Ross  tells  Macduff  what  has  happened  to  his  wife  and  babes 
during  his  absence,  and  to  Lady  Macbeth’s  heartbroken  cry  in 
the  sleep-walking  scene,  “ The  Thane  of  Fife  had  a wife,  where 
is  she  now?  ” Coleridge’s  note  on  the  scene  is:  “ This  scene, 
dreadful  as  it  is,  is  still  a relief,  because  a variety,  because  do- 
mestic, and  therefore  soothing,  as  associated  with  the  only  real 
pleasure  of  life.  The  conversation  between  Lady  Macduff  and 
her  child  heightens  the  pathos,  and  is  preparatory  for  the  deep 
tragedy  of  their  assassination.  To  the  objection  that  Shake- 
speare wounds  the  moral  sense  by  the  unsubdued,  undisguised 
description  of  the  most  hateful  atrocity,  — that  he  tears  the 
feelings  without  mercy,  and  even  outrages  the  eye  itself  with 
scenes  of  insupportable  horror,  — I . . . answer  boldly  in  the 
name  of  Shakespeare,  not  guilty ! ” 

4.  Our  fears  do  make  us  traitors : make  us  act  in  such  a way 
as  to  be  suspected  of  treachery. 

7.  his  titles : those  properties  to  which  he  has  title. 

11.  Her  young  ones : an  absolute  clause,  when  her  young  are 
in  the  nest. 


296 


Act  IV,  Scene  2. 


Notes. 


17.  fits  o’  the  season:  a splendid  phrase  to  describe  the  wild 
disorders  Macbeth  has  set  in  motion.  Cf.  below : “ Wild  and  vio- 
lent sea.” 

17.  dare  not : it  is  hard  to  see  why  she  could  not  be  told  Mac- 
duff had  gone  to  England. 

19.  hold  rumor,  etc. : when  our  fears  make  us  prey  to  every 
mere  rumor. 

22.  Each  way  and  move  : does  this  mean  simply  move  here 
and  there  without  any  direction  or  real  headway? 

30.  Sirrah : used  by  parents  to  children  as  well  as  by  masters 
to  servants. 

34.  lime : a sticky  substance  smeared  on  trees  to  catch  birds; 
possibly  the  word  was  line  which  fits  in  with  pitfall  and  gin , or 
snare. 

65.  perfect:  perfectly  acquainted  with. 

67.  homely : in  the  sense  of  humble,  of  no  rank. 

70.  fell  cruelty : murderous  cruelty. 

77.  womanly : in  the  sense  of  womanish. 

78.  these  faces : the  hired  murderers  here  disguised  their 

faces,  evidently  in  some  horrible  fashion. 

82.  shag-haired : the  word  is  shag-ear’d  in  the  Folio. 

82.  egg  . . . young  fry : offspring  of  traitors. 

Exit  Lady  Macduff : Holinshed  takes  much  space  to  describe 
what  Shakespeare  here  manages  with  wonderful  dramatic  com- 
pression, — as  if  he  had  rammed  the  chronicle  into  the  barrel, 
then  shot  it  forth  in  one  powerful  discharge. 

DISCUSSION 

“ The  next  victim,  little  Macduff  — one  of  those  gallant,  pre- 
cocious, straight-talking  children  in  whom  Shakespeare  delighted 
— it  may  be  because  he  had  lost  such  a son,  at  just  such  an  age. 
Be  it  noted  how  this  boy  is  introduced  close  after  Macbeth’s 
purposed  visit  to  the  witches  — he  seeking  them. 

“ Straight  upon  this  foul  scene  in  the  cavern  light  breaks,  for 
the  last  time  in  the  drama,  in  the  sunny  wisdom  of  a child.  Good 
gospel,  too,  as  I take  it  — 


297 


Notes. 


Act  IV,  Scene  2. 


“ ‘ Was  my  father  a traitor,  mother?  ’ 

“ ‘ Ay,  that  he  was.’ 

“ ‘ What  is  a traitor?  ’ 

— And  so  on.  ‘ Now  God  help  thee,  poor  monkey ! ’ says  his 
mother  at  length  (irony  again)  even  while  the  Murderer  is  at 
the  gate,  being  admitted. 

“ ‘ Where  is  your  husband  ? . . . He  ’sa  traitor/  are  the  words 
in  the  Murderer’s  mouth. 

“ ‘Thou  liest,  thou  shag-haired  villain,’  answers  up  the  proud, 
plucky  boy,  a moment  before  he  is  stabbed. 

“ All  these  pretty  ones  end  tragically  in  Shakespeare  : but  surely 
this  one  in  this  play  lives  his  few  moments  not  wholly  in  vain.” 

— Quiller -Couch. 

Do  you  feel  that  Ross  is  a tool  of  Macbeth  here,  or  really 
comes  of  his  own  good  heart  to  warn  Lady  Macduff?  Could  he 
have  come  as  a spy,  the  forerunner  of  Macbeth’s  murderers,  and 
then,  on  the  spot,  have  found  his  heart  melting?  Yet  he  did  not 
go  from  Lady  Macduff’s  presence  and  prevent  the  murder:  it 
happened  within  two  or  three  minutes  of  his  conversation  with 
her.  In  his  long  speech  what  quotable  lines  echo  a modern  prov- 
erb of  our  own?  Does  Lady  Macduff  give  a very  flattering 
picture  of  Macduff?  If  it  is  natural  that  she  should  not,  speak- 
ing in  the  mood  of  the  moment,  does  what  she  says  put  us  out  of 
sympathy  at  all  with  him  when  his  grief  overtakes  him?  How 
can  we  account  for  the  sharpness  of  wit  in  the  young  son?  In 
whose  company  have  his  conversational  powers  been  developed? 
Is  there  anything  about  the  mother’s  questions  that  throws 
light  upon  the  life  of  this  boy?  Why  has  Shakespeare  made 
him  so  attractive?  Is  the  part  he  plays  at  the  very  end  of  the 
scene  to  be  expected?  What  influence  has  his  gallant  care  for 
his  mother’s  safety  upon  our  sensibilities?  He  is  perhaps  five 
years  old,  yet  he  downs  his  terror  at  the  masked  faces  and  threat- 
ening daggers  of  the  murderers.  Is  Shakespeare  overdrawing 
nature  here?  Why  is  the  messenger  made  too  soft-hearted  to 
do  aught  but  warn  them?  How  long  would  it  be  possible  for 
Macbeth  to  find  such  instruments  for  carrying  out  his  crimes? 


Act  IV,  Scene  3. 


Notes. 


Do  you  think  it  at  all  likely  that  this  messenger  could  have 
been  sent  by  Lady  Macbeth?  How  complete  an  understand- 
ing do  you  get  of  Lady  Macduff  from  her  speeches?  from  Ross’s 
to  her?  from  the  messenger’s  to  her?  How  had  she  learned 
the  philosophy  in  her  speech  beginning,  “ Whither  should  I 
fly?  ” Where  do  you  most  admire  her  spirit?  Would  you  pre- 
fer this  scene  should  be  omitted?  There  is  a scene  at  the  end  of 
Act  V that  will  throw  your  memory  back  instantly  to  the  beauty, 
although  terrible  beauty,  of  this  scene.  How  much  more  pleas- 
ure, then,  in  reading  the  play  twice,  or  twice  twenty  times ! 

ACT  IV 

Scene  3 

There  is  now  no  dramatic  thread  of  any  strength  in  the  play 
except  the  great  avenging  of  the  foul  deed  of  Scene  2.  In  the 
natural  course  of  events  time  must  elapse  before  that  can  come ; 
word  of  his  loss  must  reach  Macduff  in  England;  and  possibly 
the  dramatist  may  feel  that  Malcolm  is  too  shadowy  a charac- 
ter, so  far,  to  warrant  any  interest  in  him  — and,  indeed,  he  does 
not  win  it  even  at  the  end,  when  he  is  crowned.  More  than 
that,  Shakespeare,  the  workman,  knew  that  the  denouement 
must  not  be  too  sudden.  So  we  have  this  long  conversation  be- 
tween Malcolm  and  Macduff,  so  long,  so  tedious,  so  ludicrous  in 
its  design  on  Malcolm’s  part,  that  we  feel  much  more  like  con- 
demning it  as  the  work  of  a bungling  hack  than  any  of  Middle- 
ton’s (?)  scenes.  Malcolm’s  very  first  speech  is  of  that  dull, 
gray  color  he  always  suggests.  Weeping  “ our  sad  bosoms 
empty  ” seems  hardly  the  battle  cry  of  a man  ! With  what  artist’s 
sense  of  values  this  prince  has  been  subordinated  to  the  real 
hero  of  the  tragedy ! 

3.  mortal : from  your  own  observation  in  this  play  alone  how 
does  Shakespeare  ordinarily  use  this  word? 

4.  birthdom : birthright. 

6.  Strike  heaven  on  the  face : recall  Macbeth’s  words  in 
Act  I,  Scene  7,  lines  21-25. 


299 


Notes. 


Act  IV,  Scene  3. 


7.  with  Scotland : in  reading  place  the  emphasis  on  with. 

16.  You  may  deserve : his  enmity  may  light  upon  you  even 
because  you  are  befriending  me. 

16.  wisdom  To  offer : something  is  omitted  here.  We  may 
supply  wisdom  it  were  to  offer,  or  I think  it  wisdom  to  offer. 

16.  innocent  lamb  : meaning,  of  course,  himself.  Here  begins 
Malcolm’s  attempt  to  test  Macduff  by  making  it  seem  impossi- 
ble, in  every  way,  that  he  should  be  king.  So  doing,  he  will 
find  out  how  strongly  Macduff  wishes  the  old  line  of  succession 
back  upon  the  throne. 

19.  recoil  In  an  imperial  charge  : may  change  when  authority 
comes  into  his  hands. 

21.  cannot  transpose : my  suspicions  cannot  change. 

23.  Though  all  things  foul,  etc. : though  foul  things  may  try  to 
look  fair,  yet  fair  things  are  still  unmistakable,  genuinely  fair. 

24.  lost  my  hopes : the  patriotic  Macduff  has  been  hoping 
great  things  of  Duncan’s  son. 

26.  even  there : does  he  mean  that  he,  too,  has  “ lost  his 
hopes”  in  Macduff?  If  so,  why?  Evidently  the  next  lines 
mean  because  he  has  left  wife  and  children  unguarded. 

26.  rawness  : unseemly  rush. 

27.  motives : movers  of  conduct,  as  all  we  love  must  be. 

29.  jealousies : suspicions. 

34.  affeered : the  title  of  tyranny  seems  to  be  secure. 

43.  England : meaning  King  Edward,  as  kings  often  give  to 
each  other  the  name  of  their  countries. 

47.  Shall  have  more  vices : one  critic,  Chambers,  has  the 
most  human  comment  upon  this  speech.  He  says : “ I think 
there  is  a touch  of  deeper  psychological  insight  in  this  (than  a 
trial  of  Macduff’s  patriotism).  Is  it  not  true  that  in  the  criti- 
cal moments  of  life  one  is  often  suddenly  oppressed  with  a sense 
of  one’s  own  weaknesses,  and  dormant,  if  not  actual,  tendencies 
to  evil,  which  seem  to  cry  aloud  for  expression,  confession?  ” 

49.  What  should  he  be?  Who  should  he  be,  or  may  he  be? 

66.  confineless : without  confines,  boundaries. 

67-69.  bloody,  malicious,  etc. : what  are  the  seven  deadly  sins  ? 

69.  Sudden : violent. 


3°° 


Act  IV,  Scene  3. 


Notes. 


62.  continent  impediments  : restraining  motives. 

68.  Convey : manage  artfully. 

69.  hoodwink : blind,  a term  from  falconry. 

71.  affection:  nature. 

72.  stanchless : insatiable. 

80.  summer-seeming : think  about  this  phrase  a moment ; 
its  meaning,  its  wonderful  condensation. 

81.  sword  of  our  slain  kings  : also  a wonderful  phrase  ! 

82.  foisons  : plentiful  harvests. 

83.  mere  own  : only  your  own. 

83.  portable : may  be  carried,  may  be  endured. 

86.  king-becoming  graces : was  Shakespeare  complimenting 
his  king,  James  I,  there? 

90.  In  the  division : in  my  power  to  enact  each  crime  many 
different  ways. 

93.  confound  All  unity : here  his  words  begin  to  smack  cer- 
tainly of  insincerity,  of  some  design. 

97.  No,  not  to  live : these  words,  I believe,  give  us  more  ad- 
miration for  Macbeth  than  any  others  he  speaks. 

101.  interdiction : excommunication. 

106.  Died  every  day  she  lived : every  day  mortified  her  flesh. 

112.  these  trains : these  lines. 

113.  plucks  me  : keeps  me  from  being  too  confident  in  men. 

129.  at  a point : ready. 

130.  goodness : success. 

131.  warranted  quarrel:  warrantable  because  valuable  in  its 
outcome;  quarrel , simply  difference,  or  discussion. 

136.  stay  his  cure  : wait  for  his  healing. 

136.  convinces  The  great  assay : overcomes  every  great  at- 
tempt of  the  medical  art  to  cure. 

140.  The  Evil : this  is  only  Shakespeare’s  attempt,  as  a loyal 
subject,  to  compliment  the  curative  powers  of  Edward  the  Con- 
fessor, the  “ divine  touch  ” credited  to  all  good  sovereigns. 
We  recall  that  even  as  late  as  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  Dr.  Johnson  was  “ touched  ” by  Queen  Anne  for  “ the 
evil,”  scrofula. 

143.  solicits : prays  to,  and  works  with,  heaven. 

3°i 


Notes. 


Act  IV,  Scene  3. 


146.  mere  : utter,  as  often  in  the  plays. 

147.  golden  stamp : a stamped  gold  piece.  It  is  said  that 
the  coin  used  by  King  James  was  an  “ angel-noble.”  Later 
kings  had  special  coins  stamped  for  the  purpose. 

148.  holy  prayers : at  first  this  prayer  was  printed  on  a single 
sheet ; later  it  was  incorporated  in  the  Prayer  Book. 

154.  My  countryman : from  his  dress  he  is  recognized. 

157.  means  that  makes  us  strangers  : the  woes,  crimes. 

164.  modern  ecstasy : everyday  course  of  hysterical  emotion. 
The  Greek  word  for  ecstasy  means  “ insanity. ” Modern  here 
is  a disparaging,  belittling  term. 

167.  Dying  or  ere  they  sicken : they  are  killed  so  suddenly 
they  know  not  there  is  any  malevolence  afoot  toward  them. 

167.  relation  Too  nice  : account  too  exact,  too  true. 

169.  hiss  the  speaker : for  telling  stale  news. 

171.  Why,  well : read  this  and  the  two  replies  by  Ross  that 
follow  in  the  light  of  “ there  is  no  way  to  break  bad  news  gently.” 

176.  heavily  borne  : carried  with  genuine  grief. 

177.  were  out : were  in  arms. 

188.  would  be  : should  be,  are  only  fit  to  be,  etc. 

189.  latch  them  : fasten  them,  capture  them. 

190.  fee-grief : a personal  sorrow. 

200.  quarry  : game  killed. 

206.  must  be  : was  destined  to  be. 

213.  Dispute  it : contend,  fight  with  it. 

227.  If  he  ’scape,  Heaven  forgive  him  too  : this  seems  to  mean 
that  I could  let  him  escape  only  if  I forgave  him  for  some  un- 
known cause ; if  he  goes  from  me,  still  a felon,  Heaven  must 
forgive  him. 

230.  lack  is  nothing  but  our  leave  : all  we  lack  is  to  take  leave. 

232.  Put  on : start  to  work  their  instruments. 

DISCUSSION 

What  additional  impressions  of  Malcolm  do  we  get  in  this 
scene?  Is  he  “ his  father’s  son  ”?  What  speech  of  Malcolm’s 
early  in  the  scene  sounds  to  you  like  pretentious  sanctity? 

302 


Act  IV,  Scene  3. 


Notes. 


Just  where  do  you  really  begin  to  suspect  an  ulterior  motive  in 
all  he  says?  Does  this  strange  proving  of  the  integrity  of  Mal- 
colm contrasted  with  the  blackness  of  Macbeth  give  you  any 
definite  feeling  for,  or  against,  Macbeth?  Should  Macbeth’s 
successor,  for  the  purpose  of  the  tragedy,  be  a stronger  or  weaker 
character  than  himself?  Why  did  Shakespeare  choose  to  model 
Macduff,  rather  than  Malcolm,  as  the  avenger  of  Macbeth? 
What  speeches  of  Macduff’s  express  sincere  grief  here?  How 
greatly  may  a loyal  subject  be  disappointed  in  the  young  heir  to 
his  country’s  throne?  Where  is  Macduff  most  manly?  Does 
he,  in  contrast  to  Macbeth,  put  real  worth  or  reputation  the 
higher?  ^ Where  is  Macduff  most  the  heartbroken  patriot?  Is 
there  anything  peculiarly  Scottish  in  this  dialogue  between  him 
and  Malcolm?  Which  speech  of  Malcolm’s  really  has  both 
poetry  ap.d  passion?  Is  Macduff’s  reply  to  that  speech  affect- 
ing ? V^hy  dia  Shakespeare  introduce  the  story  of  the  king’s  act 
of  healing?  In  how  far  is  the  account  of  the  king  used  as  a contrast 
for  both  Duncan  and  Macbeth?  What  is  powerful,  because 
natural,  in  the  way  in  which  Ross  breaks  the  tragic  news  to  Mac- 
duff, and  the  way  in  which  Macduff  takes  it ?^  What  action  of 
Macduff’s  is  most  indicative  of  the  depths  of  his  grief?  Why 
“ must  ” Macduff  “ be  from  hence  ”?^Why  could  he  not  have 
told  this  duty  to  Lady  Macduff?  ^What  is  affecting  in  his  speech 
“ He  has  no  children ! ” and  (‘  I must  also  feel  it  like  a man  ”? 
What  pathos  in  “ I cannot  but  remember  such  things  were  that 
were  most  precious  to  me,”  — which  is  really  the  deep  cause  of 
all  lasting  grief.  Does  Malcolm  anywhere  in  the  scene  prove 
himself  a tolerable  king?  Do  you  really  feel  any  artistic  need  of 
a scene  as  long  as  this  in  this  act?  Is  it  true,  perhaps,  that  later 
drama  found  it  difficult  to  keep  to  the  classic  five  acts,  so  far  as 
actual  material  of  interest  is  concerned?  Does  Macduff  really 
need  this  personal  motive  to  sharpen  his  enmity  against  Mac- 
beth? Should  he,  or  should  Malcolm,  have  the  last  speech  in 
this  scene?  ^Speaking  very  frankly,  from  the  point  of  view  of 
dramatic  construction,  what  is  your  feeling  about  this  scene,  and 
its  length? 


Notes. 


ACT  V 
Scene  1 


Act  V,  Scene  1 


The  change  from  verse  to  prose,  when  this  last  great  act  be- 
gins, stirs  us  profoundly.  The  preceding  act  has  just  closed  in  a 
rush  and  tumult  of  grief  and  frenzied  vows  of  vengeance  — - a 
tumult  that  lifted  even  Malcolm  to  heights  of  poetry.  This 
opens  with  the  quiet  intense  thrill  that  close  and  awed  intimacy 
gives.  The  kindly  doctor,  who,  from  his  two  nights’  watching, 
knows  that  Lady  Macbeth  “ more  needs  the  divine  than  the 
physician,”  the  devoted  lady-in-waiting,  locking  in  her  troubled 
heart  the  words  she  has  heard  night  after  night  from  her  sleep- 
ing mistress,  their  whispered  consultations,  as  Lady  Macbeth 
walks  by  them  with  her  lifted  taper,  and  the  smothered  heart- 
broken exclamations  of  the  guilt-oppressed  soul,  incoherent  but 
pitifully  revealing,  make  material  in  itself  so  affecting  that  it 
needs  no  grandeur  of  verse  to  heighten  it.  It  is  a piece  of  that 
perfect  prose  that  often  tempts  critics  to  debate  whether,  after 
all,  prose  is  not  a higher  form  of  speech  than  poetry.  We  feel 
ourselves,  as  we  read,  standing  in  the  presence  of  some  great 
power,  that  moves  the  feet  and  hands  and  lips  of  the  guilty  one 
without  her  knowledge,  telling  us  things  that  we  have  no  human 
right  to  know.  To  be  a listener  at  such  a confessional  in  that 
quiet  room  at  night  is  enough  to  stop  our  breathing.  Never 
has  woman  been  so  defenseless ! How  quickly  we  go  back  to 
Macbeth’s  old  cry,  “ Sleep  no  more,”  in  the  second  act ! 

1.  two  nights : evidently  poor  Lady  Macbeth  did  not  suffer 
these  awful  “ perturbations  of  nature  ” without  some  nights  of 
respite  between.  Macbeth  has  called  the  doctor  in  to  watch 
and  cure  her  of  the  “ thick-coming  fancies  that  keep  her  from  her 
rest,”  and  his  first  speech  to  the  maid  implies  that  he  has  been 
told  what  to  expect. 

4.  went  into  the  field : there  is  much  discussion  over  the  ap- 
parent contradictions  in  the  places  where  Shakespeare  has  placed 
his  hero.  Plainly  he  and  Lady  Macbeth  are  besieged  in  the 
castle  that  is  the  “ trap  ” situation  of  the  entire  act.  Yet  may 
not  Macbeth  find  it  necessary  to  “ go  into  the  field  ” some  short 

304 


Act  V,  Scene  1. 


Notes. 


distance,  perchance,  to  see  his  fortifications,  to  place  the  few 
men  who  are  still  fighting  on  his  side,  to  get  his  own  soldier-eye 
on  the  situation  of  his  battle  ground?  “ The  English  power  are 
near,”  not  yet  on  the  scene.  And,  from  a purely  dramatic  point 
of  view,  how  much  more  powerful  is  this  scene  with  Lady  Mac- 
beth alone,  — as  if  with  the  support  of  her  lord  gone  from  sight, 
she  were  doubly  assailed  by  her  terror.  In  such  moments  of  re- 
morse as  have  unnerved  him,  he  has  always  had  her  ready  wit 
or  her  affectionate  solicitude  to  rely  upon  — she  has  nothing. 
She  is  absolutely  alone,  in  another  world  from  that  in  which  the 
doctor  and  attendant  move. 

10.  effects  of  watching  : the  actions  one  performs  when  awake. 

20.  stand  close : stand  back,  close  against  the  wall  of  the 
room  possibly. 

25.  their  sense  : their  power  of  seeing. 

37.  none  can  call,  etc. : as  king  and  queen  none  can  question 
what  we  do. 

45.  Go  to,  go  to  : not  so  much  scorn  or  reproach,  I think,  as 
surprised  grief  at  what  he  gathers  from  Lady  Macbeth’s  words. 

49.  smell  of  the  blood : might  not  this  easily  have  been  the 
one  point  about  the  blood  on  her  hands  that  clung  to  her  awful 
memory  of  the  murder  — to  smell  for  the  first  time  warm  human 
blood  of  one’s  own  shedding  — what  could  be  more  terrorizing? 

52.  sorely  charged : heavily  oppressed. 

55.  dignity  of  the  whole  body  : for  the  dignity  of  being  queen. 

56.  Well,  well,  well  : how  else  can  even  his  professional  mind 
express  its  surprise  and  its  helplessness? 

58.  yet  I have  known,  etc. : the  gentle  heart  of  the  doctor 
would  grasp  at  the  merest  possibility  of  seeing  all  this,  and  yet 
not  taking  it  as  proof  positive  of  the  queen’s  guilt. 

64.  Even  so  : every  speech  of  hers  reveals  a new  certainty  of 
guilt,  and  makes  it  harder  not  to  condemn. 

74.  God  forgive  us  all : this  speech  is  perfect  warrant  that 
the  doctor  feels  deeply  awed  by  what  he  has  seen  and  heard. 

75.  annoyance : doing  herself  harm,  — a stronger  meaning 

than  the  word  has  with  us  to-day. 

77.  mated  : checkmated,  — utterly  stopped  its  motion. 

305 


Notes. 


Act  V,  Scene  1 


DISCUSSION 

Is  it  like  Macbeth’s  unthinking  practicality  to  call  in  a doctor 
to  cure  an  ill  like  this  sleep  walking?  Were  the  former  nights 
that  Macbeth  had  seen,  or  that  the  lady-in-waiting  had  wit- 
nessed, anything  as  compared  with  this?  What  evidence  have 
we  that  they  could  not  have  been?  Much  of  the  power  of  the 
scene  depends  upon  the  way  in  which  Shakespeare  makes  every 
one  of  Lady  Macbeth’s  ravings  bring  back  vividly  to  us  the  great 
moments  of  all  the  preceding  scenes.  In  the  folding  and  writ- 
ing upon  paper  what  letter  has  she  in  mind?  Why  should  that 
letter  have  made  strong  enough  impression  upon  her  to  mark 
the  beginnings  of  her  nightly  ravings?  Why  does  she  rub  her 
hands,  and  what  is  the  spot  she  cannot  rub  away?  What  bell 
does  she  hear  when  she  says  : “ One,  two ; why  then ’t  is  time  to 
do’t  ”?  Who  before  said,  “ Hell  is  murky,”  and  when?  What 
moment  is  called  up  by  “ a soldier  and  afeared  ”?  Who  is  the 
“ old  man”?  Where  was  the  “starting”  that  marred  all? 
When  did  she  order  Macbeth  to  wash  his  hands  and  put  on  his 
nightgown?  What  awful  night  is  in  her  mind  when  she  says 
Banquo  “ cannot  come  out  on ’s  grave  ” ; when  she  says  “ there ’s 
knocking  at  the  gate  ”?  Why  should  she  suffer  over  the  death 
of  Lady  Macduff  — since  she  knew  nothing  of,  and  took  no  part 
in,  that  murder?  Notice  how  all  the  important  evidence. comes 
out  in  her  own  words,  “ old  man,”  “ Thane  of  Fife,”  “ Banquo.” 
In  what  tone  of  voice  does  she  speak  throughout  the  scene? 
How  does  one  move  who  is  walking  in  sleep?  When  we  re- 
member that  people  in  their  sleep  walk  safely  in  most  perilous 
places  — edges  of  roofs,  for  instance  — would  there  be  any  need 
of  her  groping  her  way  with  one  hand,  or  holding  her  candle  un- 
certainly, or  going  aimlessly  from  one  part  of  the  room  to  another? 
There  is  decision  and  surety  in  all  she  whispers  and  does,  — and 
yet  all  the  agitation,  fear,  shakings,  gaspings  that  betray  that 
gentle  woman’s  nature  she  had  so  abused.  Why  are  her  three 
“Oh’s”  most  difficult  to  read  with  the  right  expression? 
What  should  they  convey?  What  did  they  evidently  convey 
to  the  doctor,  from  his  speech  which  follows?  Is  the  Lady  Mac- 

306 


Act  V,  Scene  2. 


Notes. 


beth  of  this  scene  consistent  with  the  Lady  Macbeth  of  the  sec- 
ond scene  of  the  second  act?  Do  you  feel  that  the  lady-in-wait- 
ing is  wholly  sympathetic  and  loyal?  Why  do  both  she  and  the 
doctor  say  that  they  “ will  not  report  ” and  “ shall  not  speak  ” 
of  what  they  have  seen?  Is  the  doctor’s  taking  down  of  what 
he  hears  of  any  significance?  Why  is  the  washing  of  her  hands 
the  continued  action  of  the  whole  scene?  When  had  she  said 
“ a little  water  clears  us  of  the  deed  "?  What  new  evidence  of 
her  fine  sensibilities  do  you  find  in  this  scene?  Is  there  any  rea- 
son why  the  last  speech  of  the  doctor  should  change  to  verse? 
Do  you  yourself  find  it  as  lofty  or  powerful  as  the  preceding 
prose?  Did  the  poet  mean  this  to  be  a scene  in  which  two  people 
should  merely  discover  the  perpetrators  of  those  crimes  that  had 
shaken  the  kingdom,  or  in  which  a human  soul  should  uncon- 
sciously bare  itself,  defenseless,  to  night  and  darkness?  Why 
should  • there  be  any  doctor  or  waiting- woman  in  the  scene? 
What  must  be  their  feeling  toward  the  sufferer  if  the  perfect 
unity  of  the  scene  is  to  be  maintained?  Is  our  feeling  for  Lady 
Macbeth  changed  by  this  scene?  Just  why  is  it  the  one  great 
scene  in  Shakespeare  that  challenges  all  the  powers  of  a great 
actress? 

ACT  V 
Scene  2 

The  alternation  of  the  many  short  scenes,  first  in  the  castle, 
then  outside,  helps  wonderfully  in  accumulating  an  atmosphere 
of  great  confusion  and  “ time  growing  shorter  and  shorter  ” as 
we  move  toward  the  final  conflict. 

2.  uncle  Siward  : Malcolm’s  mother’s  brother. 

3.  dear  causes  : close,  personal  causes. 

4.  the  bleeding : deeds  of  blood. 

6.  mortified  : the  man  dead  to  all  feeling. 

10.  unrough  youths  : smooth-faced  lads. 

15.  distempered  cause  : disorganized  body  of  subjects. 

18.  minutely  revolts  : revolts  every  minute. 

18,  faith-breach : his  usurpation  of  Duncan’s  crown. 

307 


Notes. 


Act  V,  Scene  3. 


23.  pestered  senses  : entangled,  encumbered  feelings. 

24.  all  that  is  within  him : all  the  evil  in  him  condemns  it- 
self for  being  in  one  who  was  once  an  honorable  soul. 

26.  truly  owed : to  Malcolm. 

27.  the  medicine  : him,  the  person,  who  is  to  cure  our  country, 
— Malcolm,  again. 

28.  purge  : process  of  being  cured  by  medicine. 

DISCUSSION 

Notice  that  these  are  not  Malcolm’s  soldiers  who  speak  in 
this  scene,  but  soldiers  just  in  the  act  of  deserting  Macbeth  to 
meet  and  join  Malcolm’s  army.  What  artistic  purpose  does 
this  arrangement  well  serve?  Can  you  tell  yet  whether  you  echo 
heartily  all  that  they  say  in  disparagement  of  Macbeth,  or  have 
you  still  sympathy  for  him?  What  does  the  poet  show  us  in 
Macbeth,  even  now,  that  those  actually  with  him  do  not  see? 
Why  is  Macbeth  so  sure  still  that  he  is  right  to  keep  still  in  Dun- 
sinane  and  let  the  enemy  make  the  attack?  How  has  Shake- 
speare twice  refreshed  our  memories  with  the  mention  of  “ Bir- 
nam  wood”?  What  condition  of  the  kingdom  do  these  men 
picture  for  us?  What  epithet  do  they  apply  to  Macbeth? 
What  former  speeches  in  the  play  come  into  your  mind  as  you 
read  “ Hang  loose  about  him  like  a giant’s  robe  upon  a dwarfish 
thief”?  When  had  they  seen  Macbeth’s  “ pestered  senses  ” 
“ recoil  and  start  ”?  What  thrill  comes  with  the  words,  “ Well, 
march  we  on  ” ? 

ACT  V 
Scene  3 

We  have  not  seen  Macbeth  since  he  last  went  to  the  witches, 
and  in  a mood  of  arrogant  desperation  vowed  to  “ give  to  th’ 
edge  o’  the  sword  ” Macduff’s  wife  and  babes.  And  yet  we  have 
not  been  conscious  that  the  play  has  moved  forward  without 
his  presence,  so  much  has  he  become  the  subject  of  expressed  ab- 
horrence, the  tyrant  whose  sole  name  blistered  the  tongues 

308 


Act  V,  Scene  3 


Notes. 


of  every  character  who  has  been  upon  the  stage,  except  Lady 
Macbeth.  So  does  dramatic  law  deal  with  the  daily  course  of 
events.  What  does  his  implicit  trust  in  the  prophecy  of  the 
witches  signify  to  us  as  we  listen  to  his  first  words? 

1.  reports : of  the  desertion  of  his  own  soldiers. 

3.  taint : show  a shade  of  fear. 

6.  consequences  : events  that  follow  events,  — in  the  literal 
Latin  meaning  of  the  word. 

8.  epicures  : there  is  no  doubt  what  a Scotchman  means  when 
he  calls  an  Englishman  an  epicure ; but  Dr.  Johnson’s  note  here 
is  interesting.  He  says  : “ The  reproach  of  epicurism  is  nothing 
more  than  a natural  invective  uttered  by  an  inhabitant  of  a 
barren  country  against  those  who  have  more  opportunities  of 
luxury.” 

9.  I sway  by : I rule  my  motions  by. 

10.  sag : be  weighed  down. 

—41.  cream-faced  loon : the  pallor  of  fear  on  the  boy’s  face 
throws  Macbeth  into  a panic  of  fear  that  expresses  itself  in  an- 
gry irritation. 

16.  lily-livered  boy : it  was  the  belief  that  a coward’s  liver 
was  white. 

16.  patch  : fools  may  have  been  so  called  first  from  the  patched 
and  mottled  garments  that  they  wore.  Puck  calls  Bottom’s 
players  “ a crew  of  patches,  rude  mechanicals.” 

16.  linen  cheeks:  in  “Henry  V,”  Act  II,  Scene  2,  line  74, 

Shakespeare  says,  “ Their  cheeks  are  paper.” 

17.  counsellors  : they  counsel  all  who  see  them  to  fear. 

Ni-w*"19.  Seyton!  Notice  how  many  times  Macbeth  calls  his  serv- 
ant during  this  speech,  and  how  the  querulousness  of  his  voice 
would  increase. 

20.  This  push  Will  cheer  me  ever : several  authorities  agree 
that  cheer  should  be  chair , to  correlate  with  disseat , and  to  mean 
insure  my  security  on  my  throne.  This  push  means,  of  course, 
this  action  set  in  motion  by  the  coming  of  the  English  army. 

30.  gracious  pleasure : is  required  only  by  ceremony ; gra- 
cious is  a strange  word,  otherwise,  for  the  king’s  tone  in  calling 
Seyton,  his  armor  bearer. 


309 


Notes. 


Act  V,  Scene  3. 


36.  skirr : scour  the  country,  we  would  say. 

42.  written  troubles : engraved  deep  upon  an  agonized  con- 
science. 

43.  oblivious : causing  oblivion. 

44.  stuffed  bosom : the  “ o’er  fraught  heart,”  as  Malcolm 
described  Macduff’s  in  IV,  3. 

62.  pristine  health:  its  former  health  — before  what  events? 

69.  bane : ruin. 

DISCUSSION 

How  can  you  account  for  Macbeth’s  unshaken  confidence 
still  in  the  prophecies  of  the  witches?  Considering,  again,  the 
way  in  which  he  jumps  at  the  entering  servant  and  speaks  to 
him,  do  you  think  he  really  does  confide  in  them  as  much  as  he 
says?  Is  it  natural  that  his  temper  should  fly  into  shreds  at  the 
look  on  the  servant’s  face?  Is  the  boy’s  fear  because  the  enemy 
are  at  hand,  or  because  he  must  carry  that  news  to  the  king? 
How  would  Macbeth’s  tone  change  in  “ Take  thy  face  hence”? 
In  his  speech  beginning  “ I am  sick  at  heart,”  what  speech  ear- 
lier in' the  play  is  echoed?  Why  is  Macbeth  always  enumerat- 
ing risks  and  losses,  as  he  has  done  all  through  the  play?  Can 
he  never  face  the  consequences  of  his  acts  like  a man?  Is  there 
real  pathos,  too,  in  this  speech?  What  line  seems  most  pitiful 
to  you?  What  is  the  effect  of  this  cry  from  his  heart,  while  he 
is  three  times  calling  to  his  armor  bearer?  What  is  his  instant 
change  in  mood  when  Seyton  brings  in  his  armor?  Why  will  he 
get  into  it  before  there  is  need  of  doing  so?  What  is  the  effect 
just  here  of  the  doctor’s  report  of  Lady  Macbeth?  How  would 
you  have  the  doctor  look  at  Macbeth  in  speaking  to  him?  Is 
Macbeth’s  cry  to  him  one  of  impatience  or  real  longing  for  help? 
Is  his  language  too  poetic  here?  Having  thrown  “ physic  to  the 
dogs  ” is  it  natural  that  Macbeth  should  again  begin  to  cry  for 
his  armor?  What  is  his  tone  in  “ Doctor,  the  thanes  fly  from 
me”?  Why  does  Seyton  linger?  Has  Macbeth’s  impatience 
gotten  him  into  his  armor  wrong,  when  he  says  “ Pull ’t  off  ”? 
How  natural  his  action  is  here  as  a matter  of  human  conduct  — 
each  irritable  moment  bringing  another  still  more  so,  until  in 

310 


Act  V,  Scene  4. 


Notes. 


despair  he  tells  Seyton  to  bring  the  armor  after  him  ! Does  his 
“ I will  not  be  afraid  of  death  and  bane  ” mean  that  he  really  is 
afraid?  What  great  difference  is  there  between  Lady  Macbeth 
when  completely  unnerved,  as  we  have  just  seen  her,  and  Mac- 
beth in  the  same  state?  To  which  belongs  the  greater  dignity 
of  action  and  expression?  Was  this  to  be  expected  from  the  be- 
ginning of  the  play?  Is  the  doctor  conscious  of  this  difference? 
Does  he  seem  the  same  man  here  as  he  did  when  watching  Lady 
Macbeth?  Are  any  of  Macbeth’s  subjects  now  natural  in  his 
presence  ? 


ACT  V 
Scene  4 

Irving  in  his  acting  version  of  “ Macbeth  ” says  that  he  has 
the  invading  army  seen  approaching  Dunsinane  by  moonlight, 
thereby  carrying  out  Holinshed’s  narrative  : “ Malcolme  fol- 
lowing hastilie  after  Makbeth,  came  the  night  before  the  battell 
unto  Birrnane  wood.” 

2.  chambers : refers  to  the  murder  of  their  father. 

3.  wood  of  Birnam  : twelve  miles  from  Dunsinane. 

4.  hew  him  down  a bough  : this  is  no  twisting  of  probability 
on  Shakespeare’s  part  to  perfect  the  construction  of  his  play; 
old  records  are  full  of  instances  when  armies  concealed  their 
numbers  in  this  way.  The  question  arises,  then,  could  the  proph- 
ecy of  the  witches  afford  such  security  to  Macbeth’s  mind  as  we 
modern  readers  feel  in  it? 

10.  setting  down : beginning  the  siege. 

11.  advantage  to  be  given,  etc. : wherever  advantageous  offers 
were  made  to  Macbeth’s  soldiers  they  revolted  from  him,  great 
and  small. 

14.  Let  our  just  censures,  etc. : Let  us  suspend  our  judgments 
until  the  outcome  of  the  battle  is  determined,  and  in  the  mean- 
while let  us  fight  like  good  soldiers. 

18.  What  we  shall  say  we  have  and  what  we  owe : what  we 
have  rightful  title  to,  and  what  we  loyally  owe  to  our  king. 

311 


Notes. 


Act  V,  Scene  5. 


19.  Thoughts  speculative,  etc. : all  our  speculation  until  the 
battle  is  over  can  be  only  uncertain. 

20.  strokes  must  arbitrate : strokes,  and  not  words,  will  de- 
cide the  issue. 


DISCUSSION 

Is  Malcolm  in  his  first  speech  still  harping  upon  the  theme  of 
his  personal  safety,  as  he  was  in  the  first  act?  What  is  the  dra- 
matic action  in  Siward’s  first  speech,  and  Malcolm’s  direction  to 
his  soldiers?  Have  the  witches  cast  enough  spell  upon  us  that 
we,  too,  find  we  have  been  trusting  to  their  oracles?  What  is 
signified  by  Siward’s  “ confident  tyrant”?  Was  Macbeth  con- 
fident when  we  last  saw  him?  What  fine  description  is  here  of 
“constrained”  service?  Is  there  anything  fatal  in  the  sound 
of  the  words  “ due  decision”?  Is  Macduff’s  note  of  acting  in 
distinction  here  to  Macbeth’s  note  of  waiting  in  exaggerated  se- 
curity? Why  is  not  Malcolm  ever  made  attractive  to  us?  Do 
Macduff  and  old  Siward  really  fight  for  him,  or  for  their  “ bleed- 
ing country  ” ? Does  Macduff  or  Malcolm  appear  the  real  leader 
of  the  army? 

ACT  V 
Scene  5 

Watch  here  for  the  dramatic  effect  of  disaster  before  Macbeth 
in  the  approach  of  Malcolm’s  army,  and  disaster  behind  him  in 
the  castle  in  the  “ cry  of  women.”  Has  he  not  every  right  to 
say  “ she  should  have  died  hereafter”?  Yet  there  is  wonderful, 
almost  deathless,  spirit  in  Macbeth’s  opening  speech. 

5.  forced  with  : reinforced  with. 

10.  cooled : we  speak  of  marrow  freezing  in  bones,  as  a re- 
sult of  horror. 

11.  To  hear  a night-shriek:  how  clearly  this  speech  of  Mac- 
beth’s expresses  for  us  the  quality  of  that  cry  of  women  ! 

11.  fell  of  hair:  literally, /e//  is  skin,  with  hair  upon  it. 

12.  dismal  treatise  : tale  of  horrors. 

13.  supped  full:  does  this,  whether  with  the  poet’s  intention 
or  not,  bring  back  to  us  one  particular  supper  of  horrors? 

312 


Act  V,  Scene  5. 


Notes. 


15.  Cannot  once  start  me : what  a career  of  crime  this  signi- 
fies ! Recalling  how  every  “ noise  appalled  ” him  in  the  mur- 
der of  Duncan,  what  a long  way  has  he  traveled  to  this  moment 
when  “ direness  cannot  start  ” him  ! Was  he  tortured  by  ap- 
paritions after  the  murder  of  Macduff’s  family? 

16.  is  dead  : what  heavy,  ominous  fatality  in  those  two  mono- 
syllables ! 

17.  She  should  have  died  : just  what  does  this  mean  to  you, — 
that  she  should  have  died  when  there  was  time  to  mourn  for  her, 
or  that  she  would  have  died  some  day,  so  why  not  to-day,  since 
the  days  go  on  creeping  in  an  endless  procession  that  leads  but 
to  our  graves? 

23.  dusty  death : dust  to  dust. 

24.  a poor  player  That  struts  and  frets  : how  perfect  a character- 
ization is  this  of  the  part  Macbeth  has  played ! 

Enter  a Messenger  : Shakespeare  has  surely  accustomed  us  in 
this  play  to  start  ourselves  at  every  entrance  of  every  messen- 
ger. Count  up  these  dramatic  entrances  ! 

40.  cling  thee  : shrivel  thee,  or  string  thee. 

42.  pull  in : pall  in,  or  weaken  in. 

43.  equivocation : double  speaking. 

43.  of  the  fiend : has  Macbeth  used  the  word  fiend  before  in 
speaking  of  the  witches? 

44.  lies  like  truth  : the  perfect  definition  of  equivocation. 

50.  estate  o’  the  world  were  now  undone : when  did  Mac- 
beth dare  nature  to  utter  destruction  ere  he  would  give  up  hear- 
ing all  he  could  from  the  witches? 

51.  Ring  the  alarum  bell : do  you  think  this  might  be  a stage 
direction  printed  by  mistake  as  part  of  Macbeth’s  speech? 
Notice  the  directions  for  “ alarums  ” that  follow. 

51.  wrack : the  old  word  for  wreck. 

52.  harness : armor. 


DISCUSSION 

Is  Macbeth’s  mood  in  his  opening  speech  of  this  scene  one  in 
which  we  have  seen  him  often  in  the  play?  How  would  this 
“ cry  of  women  ” sound?  What  would  Macbeth’s  stage  action 

313 


Notes, 


Act  V,  Scene  5. 


be  upon  hearing  it?  Do  you  think  he  really  knows  the  mean- 
ing of  the  noise?  What  is  its  effect  upon  Seyton?  How  would 
Seyton’s  manner  have  changed  when  he  comes  back  to  give  his 
report?  Do  you  appreciate  the  value  of  having  Macbeth  alone 
during  Seyton’s  absence?  Along  what  line  of  thought  does  his 
mind  revert  to  the  past?  Is  he  now  less  a victim  to  his  imagina- 
tion than  he  was?  Is  this  part  of  the  tragedy  of  his  career? 
He  used  to  argue  that  all  his  visions  came  because  he  was  yet 
young  in  crime  — was  he  right?  Could  Lady  Macbeth  ever 
have  hardened  as  he  confesses  he  has?  Is  it  possible  for  the 
mind  to  be  so  desolated  that  it  cannot  react  upon  any  outward 
stimulus?  Do  you  feel  it  is  right,  from  the  dramatic  point  of 
view,  that  Lady  Macbeth  should  die  here,  so  that  the  utter  lone- 
liness of  Macbeth  at  the  end  shall  be  appalling?  Do  you  not 
here  begin  that  feeling  of  intense  pity  for  him  which  makes  you 
admire  his  last  fight,  and  his  fall,  as  a good  soldier?  Is  there  not 
a touching  wistfulness  for  the  proper  time  for  “ such  a word  ” as 
the  queen’s  death  that  he  might  give  her  the  honor  due  her,  that 
he  might  fittingly,  with  reverence,  take  time  to  mourn  her  prop- 
erly? And  then  he  recollects  that  some  one  dies  every  day,  al- 
ways has,  always  will,  and  that  he  should  have  been  schooled 
long  ago  to  meet  this  in  his  own  experience.  It  is  said  that  Sal- 
vini,  in  his  acting,  made  a very  appealing  pause,  after  the  first 
“ to-morrow  ” — what  would  that  suggest?  In  just  what  con- 
nection here  does  he  speak  of  all  men  as  “ fools  ”?  Does  “ brief 
candle  ” mean  his  life,  or  Lady  Macbeth’s?  Is  “ shadows  ” 
a good  term  to  describe  actors?  How  many  passages  can  you 
quote  where  Shakespeare  has  used  the  metaphor  of  the  stage  to 
describe  life?  Is  Macbeth’s  treatment  of  the  messenger  here 
more  or  less  impatient  than  in  Scene  3 ? What  is  the  accumu- 
lation of  disaster  upon  Macbeth  here?  From  the  arrogance  of 
security,  to  what  mood  has  Macbeth  passed  in  the  last  speech 
of  the  scene?  Does  that  draw  him  nearer  to  his  tragic  end,  or 
was  the  former  attitude  better  for  that?  How  do  you  interpret 
the  lines,  “ I gin  to  be  aweary  of  the  sun,  And  wish  the  estate  o’  the 
world  were  now  undone”  ? Is  there  anything  to  admire  in  his 
last  speech? 


3H 


\ 


Act  V,  Scene  7. 


Notes. 


ACT  V 

Scene  6 

Notice  through  this  short  scene  how  Malcolm’s  assurance,  in 
such  sharp  contrast  to  Macbeth’s  mood  at  the  end  of  the  pre- 
ceding scene,  seems  to  bring  the  final  catastrophe  close  upon  the 
king  with  one  great  leap. 

2.  show:  appear. 

4.  first  battle  : first  line  of  attack. 

6.  our  order  : as  agreed  upon  by  us. 

DISCUSSION 

Is  this  scene  worth  staging  in  a modern  presentation  of  the 
play?  Can  you  see  two  definite  points  Shakespeare  intended 
the  scene  to  convey  to  us?  What  do  you  think  would  justify 
the  attention  he  has  been  drawing  upon  old  Siward  and  his  son? 
Is  there  any  point  in  the  Siwards,  father  and  son,  fighting  in  one 
line,  and  Macduff  and  Malcolm  together  in  another?  Is  Mac- 
duff rightfully  given  the  last  speech  of  the  scene? 

ACT  V 
Scene  7 

The  keynote  of  this  scene  is  still  Macbeth’s  desperate  reli- 
ance upon  the  witches.  The  battle  has  evidently  progressed 
far  enough  for  him  to  realize  that  he  is  defeated,  — but  cut  off 
from  all  chance  for  flight.  His  first  speech  is  breathless  from 
the  hard  fighting  — on  the  rough  field  in  and  about  clumps  of 
furze,  in  hand-to-hand  encounters  with  one  after  another  of  those 
deserters  many  of  whose  faces  must  have  once  been  friendly  to 
him.  Perhaps  no  greater  punishment  could  come  to  Mac- 
beth, who  was  the  darling  of  all  soldiers  in  the  beginning  of  the 
play,  than  his  consciousness  that  before  them  all  now  he  wavers, 
a defeated  and  broken  soldier-king. 

2.  fight  the  course  : the  language  of  bear-baiting.  The  bear 
was  tied  to  a stake,  and  tormented  (baited)  by  the  dogs ; and 
each  round  of  attack  was  called  a “ course.” 

315 


Notes. 


Act  V,  Scene  7 


16.  still:  ever. 

17.  whose  arms  Are  hired : how  much  in  regard  to  the  rais- 
ing of  the  king’s  army  is  here  suggested  by  one  touch? 

20.  undeeded : unused. 

22.  bruited : noised,  indicated. 

24.  gently  : without  any  stubborn  resistance. 

24.  rendered:  surrendered. 

29.  strike  beside  us : side  by  side,  instead  of  against  us;  or, 
possibly,  try  to  strike  one  side  of  us  so  as  to  miss  us. 

29.  Enter,  sir,  the  castle : The  castle  having  been  surrendered, 
the  gates  can  be  entered  without  further  fighting. 


What  is  Shakespeare’s  purpose  in  allowing  his  hero  this  one 
last  success  in  killing  Siward?  How  would  it  affect  his  reliance 
upon  the  prophecy?  Do  you  think  it  strange  that,  since  Bir- 
nam  wood  has  now  come  to  Dunsinane,  Macbeth  should  trust  the 
witches  further?  Knight’s  comment  upon  this  line  is:  “the 
gambler  who  has  lost  thousands  still  believes  that  his  last  guinea 
will  redeem  them,  and  that  the  last  of  a long  series  of  perishing 
delusions  is  as  firmly  trusted  as  if  the  great  teacher,  Time,  had 
taught  nothing.”  Does  the  unequal  fight  and  Siward’s  boy- 
like courage  remind  you  of  any  other  scene  in  the  play?  How 
would  Macbeth  speak,  “ My  name’s  Macbeth”?  Should  the 
fight  between  them  be  a long  and  stubborn  one,  or  a short  easy 
victory  for  Macbeth?  How  would  Macbeth  stand  as  he  speaks 
the  last  lines  of  the  scene?  Why  has  Macduff  left  the  line  to 
seek  out  Macbeth  alone?  What  phrase  shows  the  deep  incen- 
tive of  his  determination  that  it  shall  be  his  own  sword  that 
strikes  down  Macbeth?  How  picturesque  are  his  words  that 
suggest  his  searching  with  sheathed  sword,  fighting  with  no  one, 
unless  he  may  find  Macbeth  ! Where  in  his  speech  does  he  stop 
to  listen?  Can  you  see  his  fiery  leap  on  “ Let  me  find  him,  for- 
tune ! ” Are  you  sympathetic  now  with  him  or  with  Macbeth? 
What  significance  has  the  news  of  the  surrender  of  the  castle  in 
the  dramatic  position  of  Macbeth  at  the  end  of  this  scene? 


DISCUSSION 


Act  V,  Scene  8. 


ACT  V 
Scene  8 


N otes. 


Evidently  from  his  first  speech,  Macbeth  now  knows  that  his 
castle  is  surrendered ; and  yet,  like  all  habitually  invincible  sol- 
diers, he  scorns  to  die  in  any  other  way  than  by  fighting  to  the 
last. 

1.  play  the  Roman  fool : such  self-destruction  as  we  know 
was  the  noble  Roman  fashion,  — Cato,  Brutus,  Cassius,  Mark 
Antony  are  all  examples. 

8.  terms : mere  words. 

9.  intrenchant : the  air  cannot  be  permanently  cut  by  a sword. 

12.  must  not  yield  : do  not  need  to  yield. 

14.  angel : bad  angel  here,  or  demon. 

14.  still : always,  invariably. 

16.  Untimely  ripped : Vergil  says  that  children  who  were 
brought  to  birth  in  this  manner  were  sacred  to  Apollo,  and  so 
could  not  be  killed  in  battle. 

18.  better  part  of  man : the  greater  part  of  any  manly  cour- 
age. 

26.  Painted  upon  a pole : as  animals  were  labeled  in  a show. 

29.  baited : hectored,  worried,  as  in  V,  7,  line  2. 

36.  go  off  : a euphemism  for  die. 

42.  unshrinking  station : position  from  which  he  did  not 

shrink. 

48.  sons,  hairs : do  you  think  this  could  have  been  intended 
for  one  of  those  Elizabethan  puns,  like  Lady  Macbeth’s  gild  and 
guilt  in  II,  2,  line  57? 

49.  fairer : more  honorable. 

With  Macbeth’s  head : as  Holinshed  reported  it.  This  gives 
light  on  Macduff’s  speech  in  the  preceding  lines  23-27. 

66.  kingdom’s  pearl : does  he  mean  the  loyal  men  about 
him,  or  the  round  of  pearls  usually  set  in  a king’s  crown? 

65.  planted  newly : newly  planned  to  fit  the  time. 

74.  each  one : the  final  word  of  the  line,  one , was  often  pro- 
nounced then  to  rhyme  with  atone,  alone ; so  here  it  is  a perfect 
rhyme  for  Scone,  and  gives  the  right  strong  ending  to  the  scene. 

3T7 


Notes. 


Act  V,  Scene  8. 


DISCUSSION 

Can  you  think  of  any  possible  disaster  that  has  not  come  upon 
Macbeth  that  could  place  him  in  more  desperate  loneliness  than 
when  he  first  speaks  in  this  scene?  Does  he  now  want  to  escape 
death,  or  simply  to  die  fighting?  Why  is  it  consistent  that  he 
should  fight  to  the  end?  If  Lady  Macbeth  has  taken  her  own 
life,  what  dramatic  purpose  is  served  by  making  Macbeth  choose 
differently  here?  Why  is  it  more  dramatic  that  Macduff  should 
approach  Macbeth  from  behind,  — and  yet  call  Macbeth  to 
turn  before  he  would  strike  him?  What  pause  is  there  before 
Macbeth  speaks?  How  would  his  voice  change  in  his  first 
words?  What  is  the  full  significance  of  Macduff’s  “ I have  no 
words”?  Imagine  this  fight  as  a long,  desperate,  uncertain  one 
— each  man  fighting  for  all  that  meant  life  to  him.  There  are 
pauses  for  breath.  Macduff  forces  Macbeth  to  his  knees,  — 
finally  Macbeth  almost  faints  backward  and  yet  feebly  and  un- 
certainly strikes  upward  at  Macduff.  Never  does  he  yield  in 
spirit.  As  they  fight  they  go  closer  and  closer  to  the  edge  of 
the  stage,  and  we  do  not  actually  see  the  final  stroke  that  kills 
Macbeth.  We  know  he  is  vanquished  by  the  alarums  that  in- 
dicate a sharp  change  in  the  fight.  Why  did  Shakespeare  ar- 
range this  so?  From  one  speech  does  it  seem  that  one  short  mo- 
ment of  success  comes  to  Macbeth  in  this  fight?  Where  is  it? 
Why  is  it  dramatically  so  planned?  Is  there  anything  poeti- 
cally menacing  in  the  very  sound  of  the  words  “ untimely 
ripped  ”?  Upon  whom  falls  Macbeth’s  strongest  curse  on  hear- 
ing them?  Why  does  he  refuse  to  fight  further  at  first;  then 
what  thought  brings  him  back  with  renewed  spirit?  What  pa- 
thos in  this  speech  of  his,  lines  17-22?  Many  actors  have  ob- 
jected to  playing  through  to  the  end  of  the  scene ; where  do  you 
think  they  would  place  the  real  climax?  Is  there  any  argument 
for  giving  the  entire  scene?  Are  the  two  reasons  Macbeth 
gives  for  not  yielding  consistent  with  his  line  of  thinking  through- 
out the  play?  How  would  his  voice  sound  at  the  end  of  his  last 
speech?  Considering  it  as  his  last  speech  in  the  entire  play, 
is  it  adequately  significant  of  his  fate?  Of  course  some  actors 

318 


Act  V,  Scene  8. 


No  res. 

change  the  lines  and  represent  Macbeth  dying  on  the  stage  ; 
does  not  Shakespeare’s  own  arrangement  emphasize  more  the 
loneliness  of  Macbeth?  Why  have  we  this  touching  tribute 
from  Ross  to  Siward’s  son?  Does  the  tenseness  of  the  tragedy 
need  the  relief  of  tears  here  ? Is  there  any  reminder  here  of  the  Spar- 
tan mothers’  parting  words  to  their  sons,  “ Come  back  with  your 
shields  or  on  them  ” ? Is  Siward’s  speech  “ He ’s  worth  no  more  ” 
too  cold  for  a father;  is  Shakespeare  perhaps  making  us  feel 
strongly  the  patriot  in  contrast  to  the  usurper?  Do  you  think 
Ross  is  still  a time-server?  Is  there  any  point  in  having  Macduff 
alone  hail  Malcolm  as  king,  and  then  desire  the  others  to  join 
him?  What  lines  in  Malcolm’s  last  speech  remind  you  of 
speeches  of  Duncan’s  in  Act  I?  What  do  you  think  of  the 
characterization  of  the  king  and  queen  in  line  69?  Does  the 
theory  of  Lady  Macbeth’s  death  satisfy  you?  Do  you  like 
Shakespeare’s  epilogues  in  other  plays?  In  this?  Has  the  play 
ended  with  as  great  a degree  of  tragedy  as  you  would  expect? 
How  would  you  compare  it  with  “ Hamlet  ” in  this  respect? 
Have  you  any  feeling  that  Shakespeare  may  not  have  written 
the  last  part  of  this  final  scene?  Where  do  you  feel  the  end 
of  his  hand?  Thinking  backward,  what  seems  now  the  full  sig- 
nificance of  Macbeth’s  very  first  speech  in  the  play:  “ So  foul 
and  fair  a day  I have  not  seen  ”?  Is  there  anything  you  wish 
to  know  left  unanswered  by  the  end  of  the  last  scene?  Did 
you  really  wish  to  know  anything  after  Macbeth’s  death?  If  all 
that  follows  is  merely  conventional,  why  should  Shakespeare 
have  held  to  a convention  so  inferior  to  his  own  sense  of  the 
dramatic? 


319 


SUBJECTS  FOR  ORAL  AND  WRITTEN  COMPOSITION 


[Other  subjects  for  themes  can  be  drawn  from  suggestions  in 
the  notes  on  each  scene.  Subjects  marked  with  a star  (*)  are 
taken  from  college  entrance  examinations  of  recent  years.  Be  sure 
to  use  freely  in  the  themes  quotations  from  the  text  of  the  play.] 

1.  The  Dramatic  Power  of  the  Opening  Scene  of 
“ Macbeth.” 

[The  notes  on  this  scene  give  many  suggestions  for  this;  but 
try,  first  of  all,  to  describe  the  effect  the  scene  produces  upon  you 
as  you  read  it,  or  as  you  think  it  would  affect  one  who  sees  it 
acted.] 

2.  The  Ambition  of  Lord  and  Lady  Macbeth  in  the 
Years  preceding  the  Death  of  Duncan. 

[Combine  here  what  you  know  of  actual  history  with  the  mere 
suggestions  you  find  in  the  text  of  Acts  I and  II.] 

3.  The  Dramatic  Contrast  between  Macbeth  and  Lady 
Macbeth  during  the  Period  of  Great  Temptation. 

[Follow  this  through  only  as  far  as  the  actual  murder  of  Dun- 
can.] 

4.  The  Dramatic  Contrast  between  Macbeth  and  Lady 
Macbeth  during  the  Perpetration  of  their  First  Crime. 

[Follow  this  through  the  murder  of  Duncan  only.] 

5.  The  Dramatic  Contrast  between  Macbeth  and  Lady 
Macbeth  in  the  Period  of  Immediate  Concealment. 

[Let  this  cover  only  the  time  of  the  discovery  of  Duncan’s 
death.] 

6.  The  Dramatic  Contrast  between  Macbeth  and  Lady 
Macbeth  during  the  Prolonged  Period  of  Concealment. 

[Let  this  cover  all  the  time  of  the  play  to  the  fifth  act.] 

3 20 


Subjects  for  Composition. 


7.  The  Dramatic  Contrast  between  Macbeth  and  Lady 
Macbeth  during  the  Period  of  Downfall  and  Death. 

[Let  this  cover  the  entire  fifth  act.] 

8.  Subjects  3,  4,  5,  6,  and  7,  especially  if  they  have 
been  taken  separately  for  oral  composition,  can  be  com- 
bined into  one  long  theme  on : The  Dramatic  Contrast  be- 
tween Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth. 

9.  The  History  of  Macbeth’s  Ambition. 

[This  may  be  divided  into  three  parts  : the  rise  of  his  ambition ; 
its  career ; its  downfall.] 

10.  Qualities  in  Macbeth  that  Mark  Him  for  a Tragic 
Death. 

11.  The  Dramatic  Possibilities  of  the  Drunken  Porter 
Scene. 

[Discuss  here  the  setting  of  this  scene,  its  atmosphere,  its 
contrast  with  what  precedes  and  what  follows ; why  it  appealed 
so  strongly  to  Elizabethans;  whether  or  not  it  should  be  omitted 
in  modern  acting.] 

12.  Why  Our  Sympathy  Is  with  Macbeth  and  Not 
with  His  Victims  throughout  the  Play. 

[Discuss  here,  by  way  of  contrast  with  Macbeth,  the  lack  of 
dramatic  qualities  in  Duncan,  Banquo,  and  Macduff.] 

13.  The  Dramatic  Climax  of  “ Macbeth.” 

[Point  out  the  dramatic  qualities  of  the  setting  of  the  scene, 
the  spirit  of  Macbeth  in  his  last  fight,  the  spirit  of  Macduff, 
the  length  and  fierceness  of  their  hand  to  hand  fight,  its  final 
outcome.] 

14.  The  Attitude  of  the  Witches  throughout  “Macbeth.” 

[Trace  the  changes  in  their  feelings  toward  Macbeth,  ac- 
counting for  each,  and  its  effect  upon  him.] 

321 


Subjects  for  Composition. 


15.  Humorous  Scenes  in  “ Macbeth.” 

[Discuss  especially  the  quality  of  their  humor  compared  with 
humorous  passages  in  other  plays  you  know,  and  their  fitness 
here.] 

16.  Minor  Characters  in  “ Macbeth.” 

[Are  they  essential  to  the  play?  what  do  they  add  to  it?  are 
they  human  beings  or  lay  figures?  are  they  varied  or  monot- 
onous?] 

17.  Who  Was  the  Third  Murderer? 

[Give  all  the  reasons  for  and  against  its  being  Macbeth,  and 
state  your  own  personal  opinion.] 

18.  How  Does  Macbeth’s  Tragedy  Differ  from  Shy- 
lock’s? 

[Consider  here  the  difference  between  the  two  characters, 
their  careers,  their  temptations,  their  retributions.] 

19.  “ Nought ’s  had,  all ’s  spent.” 

[Picture  the  mind  and  heart  of  Lady  Macbeth  as  she  speaks 
these  words.] 

20.  Memorable  Passages  in  “ Macbeth.” 

[Are  these  merely  quotable  lines?  or  dramatic  speeches?  or 
both?  What  lines  are  known  to  every  one  although  their  set- 
tings may  be  forgotten?  Compare  with  “Hamlet”  and  “The 
Merchant  of  Venice  ” as  to  the  number  of  quotable  lines.] 

21.  The  Most  Thrilling  Scene  of  “ Macbeth.” 

[Having  made  your  choice,  describe  what  about  the  scene  ap- 
peals to  the  outward  senses,  to  our  emotions,  to  our  imagination.] 

22.  Dramatic  Night  Scenes  in  “ Macbeth.” 

23.  “ Macbeth  does  murder  sleep.” 

24.  Womanly  Strength  and  Womanly  Weakness  in 
Lady  Macbeth. 


322 


Subjects  for  Composition. 


25.  Dramatic  Noises  in  “ Macbeth.” 

[Battle,  storms,  animal  cries,  alarums,  knockings,  calls  from 
sleep,  cries  of  mourning,  clatter  of  hoofs,  sword  play,  etc.] 

26.  The  Most  Severe  Demand  upon  the  Will  of  Lady 
Macbeth. 

[Show  how  her  will  is  her  perfect  servant  while  the  strain  exacts 

it.] 

27.  The  Ghost  of  Banquo. 

[Would  you  represent  it,  or  not?  Why  does  it  alternately 
appear  and  disappear?  Compare  as  an  apparition  with  the 
“ air-drawn  dagger.”] 

28.  The  Weird  Sisters. 

[Discuss  their  appearance,  their  influence  upon  the  hero,  their 
equivocations,  their  punishments.] 

29.  The  Fatality  in  Macbeth's  Taking  Double  Assur- 
ance of  Fate. 

30.  Parts  of  “Macbeth"  That  Have  No  Dramatic  Value. 

[Discuss  why  they  are  in  the  play.] 

31.  The  Sleep-walking  Scene. 

[Discuss  this  from  the  point  of  view  of  acting.] 

32.  Birnam  Wood. 

33.  False  Points  in  Macbeth's  Philosophy  of  Life. 

34.  The  Tragic  Loneliness  of  Macbeth  in  Act  V. 

35.  Show  how  the  outcome  of  some  tragedy  of  Shake- 
speare is  determined  by  the  character  of  the  hero.* 

36.  Select  the  hero  of  some  drama  you  have  studied; 
mention  the  qualities  that  distinguish  him,  and  refer  to 
incidents  in  the  plot  that  bring  each  of  these  into  promi- 
nence.* 


323 


Subjects  for  Composition. 


37.  Mention  a drama  in  which  the  supernatural  plays 
a significant  part.  Comment  specifically  on  the  influence 
of  this  element  upon  character  and  plot.* 

38.  Show  that  a tragedy  of  Shakespeare  represents  a 
conflict  between  opposing  forces.* 

39.  Show  that  the  tragedy  in  some  Shakespeare  play 
that  you  have  read  consists  not  merely  in  death,  but  also 
in  mental  suffering,  moral  weakening,  and  defeated  purpose.* 

40.  In  a Shakespeare  tragedy  the  hero  is  usually  called 
upon  to  make  a momentous  decision  which  is  to  affect 
his  future  action.  Illustrate  this  from  any  tragedy  of 
Shakespeare’s  which  you  have  read,  stating  the  question 
at  issue,  and  showing  what  influences  determine  the  hero’s 
decision.  How  does  the  hero’s  character  affect  his  de- 
cision ? * 

41.  How  does  Macbeth  suffer  for  his  crime  otherwise 
than  by  meeting  death  at  the  hands  of  Macduff  ? * 

42.  Does  Macbeth  gain  or  lose  in  promptness  of  resolve 
and  capacity  for  crime  as  the  play  progresses?* 

43.  Lady  Macbeth’s  Madness.* 

44.  Discuss  the  changes  in  Lady  Macbeth’s  character 
between  the  time  when  she  receives  her  husband’s  letter 
and  the  time  when  she  sits  at  the  table  and  he  sees  the 
ghost.* 

45.  A great  critic  has  described  the  ideal  hero  of  a 
tragedy  as  a man  “who  is  not  eminently  good  and  just, 
yet  whose  misfortune  is  brought  about  not  by  vice  and 
depravity  but  by  some  error  or  frailty.  He  must  be  one 
who  is  highly  renowned  and  prosperous.”  With  this 
definition  in  mind,  discuss  one  of  Shakespeare’s  heroes.* 

324 


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